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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26728153">The One Who Sought the Sun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage'>EmeraldSage</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Woods are Lovely (Dark and Deep) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And Of Course - Freeform, By the Entity that shall remain Nameless, Cranky Mattie, Creepy, FACE Family, Family Drama, For the sake of humanity, Halloween 2020, Happy Halloween, Horror, Hunting, M/M, Memories, NA Bro Feels, Not sure if this is, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Psychological Horror, RusAme, Secret Relationship, So I'm gonna tag both, Spooky, Stalking, Suspense, UK Bros - Freeform, halloween fic, or - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:14:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,683</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26728153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, there was a woman who roamed the lands she called her own.  She had her people who kept her company, and her children, born in time, who would one day succeed her.  Her child of the North was strong, as the winter winds and the evergreen forests.  Her children of the South were as fierce as their deserts, and as adaptable as the storms that churned along coastlines and sands alike.</p><p>Her children of the midlands were little bonfires rooted in the dance of air and the churn of the earth, and flexible for their lives were always changing.  They burned brightly and burned out quickly, if they did not learn to temper themselves as she had once learned at her own Mother's knee.</p><p>But her little bonfires were hunted.  Stalked and coaxed and devoured, child after child after child, until only one child was left.  The only child left to take up the mantle of her midlands as she faltered and faded, and he was hunted still.</p><p>Alfred Jones had been hunted since the moment he was born.  He'd escaped the entity before, by luck and a parent's protective fury.</p><p>But now his luck had run down, and run out, and he was alone against the shadow that sought the bonfire of the sun at his core.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>America/Russia (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Woods are Lovely (Dark and Deep) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Something Wicked This Way Comes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Follows immediately after <i>Silly Little Witchling.</i>  Highly, <i>highly</i> advise you read that one first.</p><p>Also, this fic is designed to follow right after it, but it wasn't originally planned when the first one went up.  So if you do read the first one, there might be some oddities.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For a blissful few days, Alfred had thought he’d imagined it all.  That the terrifying dream that had come to him that one night, and the shattering terror that had seized him upon waking to see his window broken open, had been just that.  A dream.  That he’d gone to sleep with too much coffee in his veins, not nearly enough food in his stomach (an unfortunately common set of circumstances) and had half-hallucinated the whole thing.</p><p>But then, a few nights later, the moon went dark and the wind blew cold and dark through his lands.  And Alfred woke once more to whispers on the wind, a scream locked behind his teeth as he stared out at the forest with the echo of shadowy laughter bouncing around his head.  The window latch he’d fixed had been broken again, dangling precariously on the splintered beam at the bottom of his window pane, and the bulletproof glass featured gruesome grooves that had almost gone all the way through.</p><p>He fixed the window hours later, in the safety of the noonday sun.  Traced bloody symbols as old as the continent itself onto newly painted wood.  And when he woke up that third time to a shattered window, reminiscent of a night he almost wished he didn’t remember, he knew. </p><p>His hands shook as he drew the curtains.  Shook as he cleaned up the glass and broken wood.  Shook as he painted bloody symbols on the varnished wood of his bedroom door and sealed the room shut like Mother had taught him to, centuries ago.</p><p><em> He was alone and it was coming for him.  It was coming for him, and he was </em> <b> <em>alone. </em> </b></p><p>
  <em> “Breathe, my little fire-heart.  Breath is the heart of a bonfire.  You may be a child of the earth and the skies, but fire is at your core.  Never forget your breath, my little one.  It will save you when all else flees.” </em>
</p><p>He breathed.</p><p><em> Breathe, </em> he told himself, like Mother had told him once.  <em> Breathe and </em> <b> <em>think, </em> </b> <em> Alfred.   </em></p><p>It was coming.  It was <em> coming, </em>and he didn’t know how to stop it.  It was coming and he didn’t have a caretaker to save him this time.  He didn’t have Mother and the fire that roared at her command, or Father and his cold fury- </p><p>
  <em> Father.  Daddy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Arthur. </em>
</p><p>He exhaled.</p><p>Arthur was coming for a visit next week.  All his uncles were coming along with him.  They were going to celebrate Samhain together, since Alfred couldn’t make it to the UK this year.  Alfred had been excited to see them all.</p><p>Now, there was a desperate form of relief that came with it.</p><p>Arthur could help.  At the very least, Arthur being here would mean eyes on him.  Would mean not being <em> alone.  </em></p><p>Would mean that Alfred wouldn’t just disappear into the shadowy woods without anyone to realize what had happened to him until a new personification was born.</p><p><em> Why am I acting like it’s a guarantee, </em> he thought to himself, irate.  <em> Even if I can’t fend it off alone, with Arthur and everyone here, there’s no way it can get past all the warding.  And as much power as it’s built up to have this much influence on the world, it will wane in time.  It always has.  I </em> <b> <em>can</em> </b> <em> outlast it. </em></p><p>Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a mocking laugh.</p><p><em> Arthur won’t believe you, </em> the doubtful part of his mind that accompanied it whispered insidiously, snickering, <em> when has he ever listened to your warnings before?  Ever believed your fears?  Even when they might’ve saved his life?  </em></p><p>Memories danced behind his eyes as he pressed them shut, before shoving them, and the doubtful little voice, to the far corner of his mind.</p><p>Arthur would believe him.  He turned to glance out the hallway’s window, and he felt his fists clench as the wind rustled over the darkening forest with a deceptive calm.</p><p>Arthur would believe him.</p><p>He had to.</p><p>
  <b>.</b>
</p><p>By the time the day before his father and uncles were due to arrive came around, Alfred was nearly ready to drop.</p><p>In fact he <em> had </em>dropped.  He’d passed out on his way to a coffee shop on his way into DC yesterday morning.  Not while crossing the street, thank god, but close enough to the crosswalk that he had a mini-swarm of his citizens bolting over to him to make sure he was alright.</p><p>Thankfully, he’d woken up before they’d called an ambulance.  It hadn’t stopped them from glimpsing the ink-dark circles around his eyes, though the face mask had prevented them from noting the frequency of yawns that overtook him.  His citizens were a jumpy, overprotective bunch around him, even in the middle of a pandemic, so they’d refused to leave him be until he’d had something to eat and drink - though one particularly disheveled nurse, who’d been on her way home from what had felt like a 48 hour shift, had point blank refused to get him any coffee and recruited the others to her cause with the fervor of the over-caffeinated and sleep deprived.</p><p>That he’d scheduled the call with his father only hours later that same day hadn’t made the situation any better.  Though he hoped the way he looked so <em> out of it </em>helped convince the elder man, at the very least.</p><p>But convincing or not, getting less than an hour of sleep at night, with the rest of the moonlit hours filled with nightmares and restless sleep plagued with laughter seeping in through the windows, was <em> not </em>sustainable.</p><p>He didn’t know how much longer he could handle this.  But he had to.  Just a little longer.  Just long enough.</p><p>He didn’t dare think about what would happen if he couldn’t.</p><p>When his phone rang, he didn’t jolt.  He was too exhausted.  He didn’t even bother checking the caller ID before answering it.</p><p>
  <em> “Fedya?”  </em>
</p><p>And all the tension in his body just - <em> eased.  </em></p><p>A smile lifted his lips for what felt like the first time in <em> days, </em>“Hey you,” he said, warmth curling in his chest.</p><p><em> “Hey yourself,” </em> Ivan retorted warmly across the line, and Alfred slid soundlessly into the cozy armchair he’d been denying himself.  <em> “Have you been taking care of yourself, darling?”  </em></p><p>Alfred huffed, “Why is that always the first thing you ask?”</p><p>
  <em> “Perhaps if you took better care of yourself…maybe get some sleep before you pass out while walking to work?”  </em>
</p><p>“I’m not even going to ask how you know about that.”</p><p><em> “Good,” </em> he could hear Ivan shifting, likely sitting on the couch, blanket tucked around his legs.  The faintest rustling of paper that could’ve been either a book or some paperwork on the lapdesk his lover kept near the settee.  <em> “You wouldn’t like the answer.”  </em></p><p>Alfred rolled his eyes, “So, you’re calling out of concern?”</p><p><em> “Do I need an excuse to call you, my love?” </em> </p><p>“Sweet talker,” he accused, feeling the warmth build, turning him to mush on the inside, “No one would believe me if I told them.”</p><p>Ivan’s bark of laughter echoed his own laughter at the very thought, <em> “Keep it in reserve,” </em> Ivan snickered, <em> “for when the world is being particularly mutinous.”  </em></p><p>His laughter was bright and loud and <em> oh, </em>he hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d last laughed like this.  All the tension and fear that had been building had been wiped away not even two minutes into his phone call.</p><p>“God,” he said, still laughing, “I miss you.”</p><p>He could <em> feel </em> Ivan’s smile across the line, <em> “As I miss you,” </em> he agreed, <em> “You should come home for the New Years,” </em>he suggested slyly, as if he hadn’t been angling for it all year.</p><p>“Mmm, I might,” he mused, his smile curled brightly on his face, “after the insanity of this year, I could use a week or two away.”</p><p>A week or two to just forget the chaos, walk away from his broken system and just <em> relax. </em> Was that truly too much to ask?</p><p>Only Ivan’s presence could do this to him, he knew, smile softening as his whole body relaxed.  Only Ivan had ever made him feel this safe.  And he knew it went both ways, of course he did.  But in moments like these, gentle and vulnerable and just so <em> easy </em>after decades of tension and doubletalk, reminded him of how much he loved - </p><p>A chill, like the breath of hoarfrost, raised every hair on the back of his neck and sent a shiver down his spine.  A hint of delighted, mocking laughter whistled on the wind seeping in through the cracks in his windows as his heart rate tripled.</p><p>A voice just faint enough he couldn’t make it out.  A breeze curled around his cheek like a lover’s touch, turning his attention towards the windows. </p><p>Alfred stared out at the innocuous woods behind his home.  The breeze flitted around the trees, causing them to sway lightly, and the birds chirped cheerfully, singing their evening song.  It was perfectly normal.</p><p>And yet…</p><p><em> “Fedya?” </em>Ivan’s voice inquired softly, a tone of concern warming it, and Alfred couldn’t ignore how his hands shook.</p><p>He couldn’t move.  Why couldn’t he move?</p><p><em> “Fedya?” </em> Ivan’s tone was shifting abruptly, from concern to something more dangerous.  Alarmed.  <em> “Alfred, what’s happening?” </em></p><p>Alfred hadn’t registered how his breathing had picked up; hadn’t noticed the sharp inhale he’d made at the first touch of frost, the first realization that he was <em> still being watched.  </em></p><p>But Ivan never missed anything, and he certainly hadn’t missed that.</p><p>“Nothing,” he said, trying to force his tone into something even and less the dry rasp that threatened to undo him, “Nothing, Ivan, everything’s fine.  I - sorry to worry you, big guy.”</p><p><em> “Alfred,” </em> and this time, Ivan’s tone was dangerous for a different reason entirely.  It was a warning and a command all at once; a tone as familiar as that gentle warmth, but for very different reasons.  <em> “You’re shaking.”  </em></p><p><em> How can you tell? </em> He wanted to ask, desperately, but that would yank any illusion of security right out of his hands.  And then Ivan would <em> definitely </em> know something was wrong.  <em> As if he didn’t already, </em>his mind snorted.</p><p>Ivan always knew.  Even when Arthur didn’t.</p><p>Part of him wondered if he should say anything - if he should bring Ivan in.  And yes, a small part of him desperately wanted that warmth Ivan would bring with him.  That security and safety and <em> love </em>that would come with his lover.</p><p>But a larger part of him - that brash, self-sacrificing, <em> hero </em> part of him - didn’t want Ivan anywhere <em> near </em> the entity stalking his steps.  Arthur, at the very least, he could justify.  Arthur and his siblings could protect themselves from the entity’s mischief and malice.  Ivan had <em> no </em>magical presence on his lands.  He had no protection from the entity, one that likely already knew about him.</p><p><em> Something’s wrong, </em> he wanted to scream, <em> something’s </em> <b> <em>wrong, </em> </b> <em> I’m not going to come back from this.  </em></p><p>But he couldn’t.  God, he <em> couldn’t.  </em></p><p>“Nothing’s wrong, <em> relax </em>babe,” he lied instead, ignoring the screaming of his internal thought process, the reminder as much for himself as for Ivan, “I just heard something creak up in the attic - was just the old furnace turning on.  Scared the bejeezus out of me for a sec.”</p><p>Silence greets him for a long - <em> too long </em>- second.</p><p><em> “Well,” </em> Ivan’s voice was rough, and there was a dark hint of something foreboding that told Alfred Ivan hadn’t been convinced at all, <em> “if you’re sure, darling.”  </em></p><p>“Positive,” he assured, smoothing out his voice to something reassuring, crossing his fingers in an old, futile gesture.</p><p>Thousands of miles away, Ivan sighed.  “Well,” he said, scanning the flight summary on his tablet, pitching his voice low and soothing, knowing that Alfred was not there in front of him to catch the unconvinced furrow of his brow or the stubborn slant of his mouth, “try and get some sleep, Fedya.  Proper sleep.  I’m certain you need it.” </p><p><em> “No promises,” </em> his lover huffed, a hint of relief coloring his tone, and Ivan smiled as he completed his purchase for an overnight flight into Washington, DC a few days out.  Just long enough that Alfred would’ve dropped his guard, and with enough time for it to <em> not </em> be suspicious to his boss.  <em> “You know how I get around the wintertime.”  </em></p><p>“Da, of course I do,” he retorted, smirking, “but you need sleep, nonetheless.”  A not so subtle prompt.</p><p><em> “Fine, fine,” </em> Alfred groaned, <em> “I’m just going to finish dinner and I’ll go up.  Promise.”  </em></p><p>“Good,” he said, “Good night, darling.”</p><p><em>“Good night, Red,”</em> his love retorted, and he could <em> hear </em>the smirk in that voice before the phone disconnected.  His silly love.  His stubborn love.</p><p>Ivan knew well how to get around that stubbornness.  He’d learned every trick there was to know; everything that made Alfred tic, the little nuances of his day.</p><p>And if Ivan had to put that to use in order to protect Alfred from himself, well.</p><p>Alfred knew what he’d signed up for when they came together.</p><p>Which is why he felt no guilt for purchasing tickets to ambush his lover, nor when he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts before connecting to the one he knew would be able help him.</p><p>“Ah, good evening Matvey.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Let's Play a Little Game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter was meant to be half the size it currently is.  But, well, the way it ended was just too perfect to shunt it off halfway into chapter three, so y’all get a slightly longer chapter today! Also, an absolutely enormous thanks going to Usagi323 for helping through one of the biggest sections of this chapter.  She’s the reason y’all have a larger than usual update.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He almost hadn’t believed it.</p>
<p>It was a bitter, guilt-inducing truth that bounced around his brain as his brothers squabbled around him, wrestling each other for a position in the car.  Rhys had already settled imperiously to Arthur’s right, claiming the passenger seat with a tired glare that neither of the others were willing to challenge.  Not that it distracted him from his plight.</p>
<p>He truly hadn’t believed it.  He hadn’t believed it, when Alfred had texted him a few days back to set up a private Zoom call, and had revealed to Arthur slowly that he was being stalked by <em> something </em>and he was in trouble.  That he’d always gotten away by lucky chance before, and he was desperate.  He needed help.</p>
<p>Arthur almost hadn’t believed it at all.  Perhaps he would’ve gone along with it, dismissed the concerns mentally, but gone through the motions to placate his jumpy, paranoid child.</p>
<p>If it hadn’t been for the shadow.</p>
<p>Alfred preferred to take his video calls between close friends and family without a Zoom background, sitting in the breakfast nook of his woodsy Virginia estate where he’d been riding out the pandemic so far.  He’d often have his back to the bay windows that framed the nook, with a picturesque view of the vibrant woods that only emphasized how powerful Alfred’s green magic was to those in the know.</p>
<p>They hadn’t been vibrant this time.</p>
<p>He almost hadn’t believed Alfred.  But it had been the shadow, hanging over the woods, creeping in the background like a demented grin, filled with a wicked intent so hefty it felt <em> ancient, </em> that convinced Arthur to <em> look again.  </em></p>
<p>Caused Arthur to look, and finally <em> see.  </em>See the way Alfred’s hands were shaking with minute, almost invisible tremors as he twirled a pencil around his fingers in a show of nerves and dexterity.  See the way Alfred was too pale, washed out in a way even virtual rendering couldn’t make him.  See the way blue eyes were too distant, distracted; the way they darted around the kitchen, watchful and worried.  See the way his spine was ramrod straight in a way he hadn’t seen it since the Cold War.</p>
<p>Arthur looked, and finally saw the true <em> fear </em>he’d never seen before in his son.  Not in the Revolution.  Not in 1812.  Not during the Cold War.  And all because of that damned shadow.</p>
<p>The shadow that had no doubt <em> known </em> Arthur had seen it.  Had taunted him to come, <em> dared him, </em>to try and save his son.</p>
<p>As if even if he did come, nothing would change.</p>
<p>Arthur abruptly forced himself to shift his train of thoughts along with his grip as he heard the steering wheel give a weak whine under his clenched fists.</p>
<p>Ignoring the narrow-eyed look his eldest brother had thrown him - the only one who’d caught the sound in the midst of the kerfuffle their middle brothers were pitching in the back row - Arthur switched on the ignition and eased the car out of its parking space and into the airport traffic.  The two yelps from the back were like music to his ears.</p>
<p>Instead of relishing in the minor satisfaction, his mind turned back to its contemplations, the mystery of the situation a priority.  The mystery of Alfred’s behavior even more so.</p>
<p>He’d never seen Alfred like this before.</p>
<p>His son was so brave.  So daring.  Brash and bold and fearless in a way he so rarely saw in other nations.</p>
<p>He’d been like that as a child, too.</p>
<p>Oh, he’d been more susceptible to fright then, and even more so to tears, but he was such a courageous little lad.  He’d more than grown into it as a young nation, tempered it with cunning and a smile that was as much a mask as it was genuine and beguiled and bewildered nations and citizens alike.  He’d learned how to deal with things that frightened him - although Arthur had never managed to make any sort of progress on his son’s love-hate relationship with horror movies - and rare was it that Arthur had ever been confronted with true fear.</p>
<p>In fact, Arthur wasn’t sure he’d <em> ever </em>seen his son truly scared before.  The kind of soul deep terror he’d felt when Rome had taken him, when his Mother had faltered and slowly faded, when his beloved Arthur - his beloved, devoted King, whose name he’d adopted for his own - had fallen to Mordred’s plots, with Morgana whispering poison in his ears…. He’d never seen the markers for it in his son.  Not like he saw it now.</p>
<p>Had he missed them, the first time around?  Had Alfred concealed his gut-wrenching terror from Arthur as a wee babe, and then a young colony?  Had he, even at such a young age, had the ability to fool him?  Or had they simply never been there?</p>
<p>But now, as an adult - albeit a teenager, still - Alfred simply <em> couldn’t </em>hide his terror.  There was no mask shielding the soul-shredding terror behind blue eyes.  No way to mistake how pale Alfred had gotten.  How his hands shook when no one was watching him, or how his eyes grew distant and faded as he looked to the forest with something so base and terrifying that Arthur couldn’t even watch without chills descending down his spine.</p>
<p>This monster, Alfred had told them, had hunted him for centuries.  Why was it only now that Arthur had <em> noticed? </em>  Why could he not think of even <em> one </em>instance where he’d seen Alfred similarly afflicted?  He knew his personal attention to his colonies had been somewhat… lacking, as they’d grown, but even he couldn’t have missed these signs - </p>
<p>Wait.</p>
<p>
  <em> Wait.  </em>
</p>
<p>He hit the break just a little too hard as the light in front of him flashed to red, but the yelping from the back seat almost didn’t register.</p>
<p>Hadn’t there been that night - ?</p>
<p>That one, terribly odd, eerie night.</p>
<p>
  <em> The fire was crackling in front of him, and the blanket he’d layered around his shoulders was warm, but he couldn’t quite resist the urge to shiver.  It was odd, but he cared not.  Alfred had been so energetic, after their trip into town earlier that day.  It had worn him down, so soon after his arrival to his colony’s shores, and he wanted nothing more than to relax before the fire, and perhaps catch up on an old book that had been gifted to him.  He simply hadn’t had the time to read it before, and he’d heard good things.  Perhaps one night, he could take a break from the constant paperwork… </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> But no matter what he tried, he couldn’t seem to allow himself to relax. </em>
</p>
<p>Horns blared behind him, startling him from deep thought just in time to hear Alistair bark at him from the back seat, “Albion - the light!”</p>
<p>He cursed and floored it at the glimpse of green, sending his brothers tumbling back into their seats, swearing up a blue streak.  Rhys frowned at his distraction from the passenger seat, concern shading hazel eyes.  Likely as not, he was picking up on some of Arthur’s odd recollection.</p>
<p>An odd recollection that wouldn’t leave him alone now that he’d thought of it.  Still, he forced himself to concentrate on the road, knowing getting them all into an accident while trying to pinpoint that odd memory would only get them into unnecessary trouble.  And Alfred had enough of that right now, didn’t he?</p>
<p><em> Trouble.  </em>Why did that thought linger?</p>
<p>Wait.  <em> Wait.   </em></p>
<p>Alfred had been in trouble.</p>
<p>His brows furrowed as he chased down the memory, driving more on instinct and memory from the frequent trips he’d made to his son’s spacious woodsy Virginia estate.</p>
<p>That’s right.  Alfred had been in trouble.  He’d been messing around with some of the wood carving tools, close enough to the warding stones that Arthur had noticed immediately.  Alfred had pouted for the rest of the day, forbidden from the outside as punishment, until it had been time to go to bed.  And lord, hadn’t that been an affair of its own?</p>
<p>Until -</p>
<p>
  <em> A scream shattered the stillness.  Childlike and high, filled with terror, and unmistakable.  Arthur didn’t even hesitate, dropping the book, blanket flying off as he bolted up the stairs. </em>
</p>
<p><em> He threw open the door with such force it bounced off of the wall, magic gleaming in his eyes and dancing around his fingers, ready to eradicate whatever threat had caused his child to </em> <b> <em>scream. </em> </b></p>
<p>
  <em> There was...nothing there. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> It was an odd scene; eerie he would later reflect, with the way every hair on the back of his neck had stood up. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The room was cast in shadows, only the hallway’s illumination giving some visibility.  Not even the moon shone into the room, through the cracked and shattered panes. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His brows furrowed.  When had the window cracked? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He dismissed it, with his instant inspection of the room, and instead drew his gaze to his son. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Alfred was under the bed - which, in retrospect, should’ve been the first hint to Arthur that something had been terribly wrong, because Alfred had only recently stopped being scared of the monsters under his bed - thick quilted blanket wrapped around his shaking shoulders.  He was staring at the wall across from him in the darkness of his room, expression so visibly terrified in a way he’d never seen on his son’s face before. </em>
</p>
<p><em> The moment he registered Arthur’s presence in his room, backlit by the light spilling into the room from the hallway, he squirmed out from under his bed and threw himself at Arthur </em> <b> <em>sobbing</em> </b> <em> .  He almost startled, violently, at the uncharacteristic motion. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Instead, he crooned soothingly, running a gentle hand through burnished wheat locks, sweat-soaked and chilled in response to the true fright, as he wrapped the other arm around his son, curling him further into his embrace in what comfort he could offer.  He scanned the room still, but his gaze couldn’t focus, as if he was missing something. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He shook it off, walking over to draw the curtains, if only to keep the wind out as much as he could until he could find someone to repair the broken window.  He didn’t hear Alfred’s distressed whine as he approached the window. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His fingers brushed against the unlit candle as he drew away, and he paused. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The wax was still warm.  </em>
</p>
<p>The realization hit him just as the light flashed red.  He hit the break, screeching the car to an abrupt stop, and sending his brothers catapulting into the front seats.  He ignored Alistair’s growled, <em> “Albion,” </em>in lieu of the terrifying breakthrough.</p>
<p>Had it - had it been <em> there </em>that night?</p>
<p>Alfred had been nigh unconsolable.  He’d refused to go back into his room for an age, even after the window had been fixed.  For weeks Arthur had come down in the morning to find the little sneak curled into a tight little ball underneath his blanket, slumbering on the couch in front of the embers of the fire from the night before, as if they’d only barely burned down by the time dawn had broken.</p>
<p>He’d dismissed it then as childishness.  He hadn’t seen the signs that he could now, in retrospect.  Alfred had never been truly terrified in Arthur’s presence, and he’d dismissed it the one time his son <em> had been, </em>because he hadn’t thought it possible.</p>
<p>He really needed to get to Alfred’s home.  To see his son with his own eyes first; to reassure him that things were still well.</p>
<p>And then, he needed to speak with Matthew.</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>By the time Arthur connected their video call, Matthew had already been drumming his fingers irately on the wood of his desk for at least ten minutes.  Ten very <em> long </em>minutes for the irate Frenchman who’d had to endure the repetitive noise slowly driving him insane.</p>
<p>Thankfully, for both their sanity, the call connected before Francis could do anything more than open his mouth.</p>
<p>The computer screen blinked blankly for a moment, before the image widened and they could see the four UK brothers crowded together to fit within the camera’s viewfinder.  Matthew recognized the backdrop as Alfred’s basement den - the most enclosed, private space in Alfred’s home outside of the bedrooms and his study - and felt a ripple of relief go through him.  Alfred wasn’t home alone anymore.</p>
<p>That in and of itself eased a lot of worries.</p>
<p>“You’re all safe,” he breathed, bypassing even the basic pleasantries with the sheer force of his relief, “How’s Al?”</p>
<p>“Deteriorating,” Rhys said bluntly, cutting off the scolding about to slip from Arthur’s tongue, “And fast.”</p>
<p>“Explain the situation to me, then,” he said instead, tone uncompromising, crossing his arms in a wordless show of stubbornness that he knew they wouldn’t see.</p>
<p>Rhys grimaced, “We’re not actually all that sure about what <em> is </em>going on,” he admitted, frown deepening as he glanced up - likely to where Alfred lingered, “Alfred has only vaguely outlined that there’s some sort of problem.  Every time we try and get him to clarify, he zones out.  It’s worrying enough that we haven’t pressed yet.”</p>
<p>“Dazed?” Francis repeated, worry twisting thick and heavy in his tone, “How?”</p>
<p>The UK siblings exchanged looks that didn’t do anything to reassure either of them.</p>
<p>“He’s...not present,” Arthur sighed, after a lengthy pause, “He’s trying, but the effects this creature is having, combined with what appears to be some serious sleep deprivation is not making it any easier for him.”</p>
<p>“I’ve had to pull the boyo away from the window three times already,” Reilley said, and the grim worry twisting the normally cheerful Irishman’s voice made the words twice as concerning, “And we’ve only been here for a matter of hours.”</p>
<p>“And sometimes,” Alistair’s voice was heavy with anger alongside the concern lining his face, “he’s jumping at the bleedin’ shadows.  I swear he almost took off my head with a cook pot when I startled him in the kitchen.  Frightened like I’ve never seen the lad before.”</p>
<p>Matthew felt a frown tugging at his lips.  If Alfred was this bad - and <em> damn, </em> did it sound bad - then why wasn’t someone watching him?  The whole purpose of the brothers being there was to make sure Alfred was <em> alright.  </em>And he just about opened his mouth to say so when Arthur jumped in, frowning as he glanced at the ceiling.</p>
<p>Arthur shook his head, “I’ve never seen Alfred so frightened,” he admitted, worry twisting his frown deeper, “it worries me what this creature might be to have such an influence on him.”</p>
<p>Matthew blinked.  Then blinked again.  Arthur couldn’t have possibly just said that -</p>
<p>“You can’t be serious, <em> sourcils,” </em>Francis interjected, leaning forwards with a narrow eyed glare before Matthew could stumble passed the shock in his brain, “are you implying that you have never seen Alfred seriously frightened before?”</p>
<p>Arthur frowned disapprovingly, “Well of course I’ve seen him frightened, but it was always small things.  Nightmares and childish fears, and such things.  Never anything serious.  Even during the wars.”</p>
<p>An endless heartbeat passed as Matthew tried to comprehend that unexpected bombshell.</p>
<p>“You’re - you’re <em> joking, </em> right?” he heard himself say incredulously.  “You’re - oh my god,” he blurted out, seeing the uncomprehending stares from the other end of the line, “Oh my <em> god,” </em>he breathed, “you’re not kidding.”</p>
<p>Arthur’s frown, somehow, becomes more severe, as the rest of the UK brothers only seem to look discomforted, “Matthew,” he said, in that infuriatingly familiar tone that implied a lengthy scolding, but Matthew cut him off.</p>
<p>“That’s - that’s such a staggering amount of <em> bullshit.” </em></p>
<p>Francis snorted.</p>
<p>“No, <em> Mathieu,” </em> his <em> père </em> said, sighing in and exhausted exasperation, “it is simply another example of the blinders he wears around his <em> enfants.”  </em></p>
<p><em> “Frog,” </em>Arthur growled, but Francis shook his head.</p>
<p>“No, <em> cher,” </em> he said, firmly, staring through the screen utterly unmovable, “I have had this argument with you too many times.  I will not have it again.  You <em> are </em> blinded by your own arrogance when it comes to your <em> enfants. </em>  I can name off the top of my head a handful of occasions where Alfred came to me, truly frightened, during his Revolution so that I might help calm his fears.  And that is only one <em> event </em> we shared, that I can name.  <em> Mathieu, </em>undoubtedly, knows of countless others.”</p>
<p>Arthur recoiled, shock flitting across his face at the fierce accusations, mixed in with emotions Matthew was more than familiar with.  Guilt, self-recrimination, resentment and an old burning ember of fury that always came with the discussion of Alfred’s Revolution.</p>
<p>And god, did Matthew <em> want </em> to be sympathetic - he knew that Arthur had been doing better, improving slowly year by year, on knowing what he’d done to them as colonies was not okay - but he also <em> remembered.  </em> He remembered what it was like to be scared, to be comforted by his <em> papa </em>before the Seven Years War.  Remembered comforting Alfred, and the younger colonies, and comforting himself because he hadn’t been able to trust Arthur enough to go to him. </p>
<p>And more than that, he remembered what that burning ember of fury had pushed him to do.  Remembered the fresh burn on his heart from Alfred’s soldiers, remembered discarding the frantic letter Alfred had sent, desperate to see if he was okay, swearing he’d reign in his war hawks because they’d promised him they wouldn’t do such a thing, he wouldn’t have allowed it he swore - </p>
<p>Remembered knowing it to be true and setting Washington City alight with his own hands despite it all.</p>
<p>Remembered - </p>
<p><em> His collar was too tight, but everyone was too on edge for him to risk drawing attention by trying to loosen it.  The treaty signing was already tense as it was.  He couldn’t even name all the emotions swirling around in his gut.  That remaining burning ember of fury from York, the lingering resentment from Arthur’s focus on seeing Alfred again, the anxiety for him doing the same, a hint of remorse, a dash of relief, of excitement - he’d finally get to </em> <b> <em>see his brother - </em> </b></p>
<p>
  <em> And then the door opens, with all eyes turning to it as it swings out into the room.  Ivan walks in first, expressionless, followed by his diplomat.  The American diplomat slipped in after them, features tight and forcefully polite, though there was no mistaking the slow burning anger barely concealed in those bright eyes.  And after him, finally -  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> It lasted a split second.  Bright, brilliant bonnie blue eyes met his own stormy indigos. </em>
</p>
<p><em> And then, Alfred froze.  For a split second, he froze, face flickering into something startled, on edge - eyes going wide, filled with panic and face paling.  His body shifted half a step back, poised to run, even as his left arm twitched, coming up an inch, as if to cover the matching scar Matthew </em> <b> <em>knew </em> </b> <em> had to be on his heart. </em></p>
<p><em> It was only for a split second, sliding away into something bone-chillingly cold and expressionless, but Matthew had seen it.  That’s all it had taken.  A split second, and Matthew </em> <b> <em>knew </em> </b> <em> what that look had meant.  Had seen it before. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Alfred was scared. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> No, it was more than that. </em>
</p>
<p><em> Alfred was scared </em> <b> <em>of him. </em> </b></p>
<p><em> Matthew </em> <b> <em>couldn’t breathe.  </em> </b> <em> He almost couldn’t think.  He was sure that, wrapped up in the discussions as they were, no one marked his hasty retreat from the treaty room. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> No one but Alfred.  Alfred who always watched the things he was scared of, to make sure they didn’t hurt him. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Alfred who was scared of him.  </em>
</p>
<p>To this day, Matthew still didn’t know how to feel about the fact that Alfred was probably the only one who’d realized he’d been having a breakdown in the hallway.  Even if he’d likely never known the cause</p>
<p>Matthew was a big brother.  Alfred was never supposed to be scared of him.  Not <em> ever.  </em></p>
<p>The fact that his brother <em> still </em>flinched around him when he started their campfire on a camping trip, or struck a match to light a candle… he swallowed.</p>
<p>How - <em> how </em> could Arthur not <em> know?  </em></p>
<p>And then, he heard himself ask exactly that.</p>
<p>“How do you not remember,” he demands, cutting off what he <em> knew, </em> bone deep, was about to be some sort of stubborn rebuttal to Francis’s cutting accusation, “at the Treaty - he was scared.  He was so <em> scared, </em>of us.  Of me,” his voice cracked, and he felt more than saw Francis settle a gentle hand on his arm.</p>
<p>And Arthur - <em> god, Arthur </em> - still looked like he didn’t have any clue what Matthew was talking about.  But then, he saw Arthur’s gaze drop to where Matthew’s left hand was, curled defensively atop his heart - <em> when did his hand get there? </em>- and saw him go pale.</p>
<p>“Matthew,” he said, hesitant.</p>
<p>Matthew shook his head, “How did you not know?” he asked again, voice almost helplessly confused, and he could almost <em> feel </em>Arthur’s flinch.</p>
<p>And, of course, that’s when Alistair stepped in.</p>
<p>The Scotsman might rib Arthur for all his failures endlessly, but seeing his little brother so exposed always got to him.  Matthew had always known that, even if the hypocrisy galled him a little.</p>
<p>“Alright boyo,” Alistair sighed, “I’ll be the first to admit that Albion’s fucked up plenty of times, as a person let alone as a parent -,” he took the elbow from Arthur with a grumpy glare and a grimace, “ -but it’s not fair to ambush him about it now.”</p>
<p>Matthew felt his jaw firm up, the slant of his lips going tight and stubborn as the UK brothers tightened their defenses.</p>
<p>Rhys took the baton, sighing as he shifted at the edge of the frame, “I agree.  Bringing up wounds from the past is important, of course.  But perhaps now is not the best time?  There is nothing relevant that would bring insight into our current situation -”</p>
<p>Francis scoffed, breaking Rhys’s placation with a scoff, “How typical of you,” he sneered, “Arthur not being aware of his children’s pasts is the reason we are as confused as we are!”</p>
<p>And there they went again, he realized, frustration building.  It’s not like he particularly disagreed with Francis, of course.  He wanted this discussion.  But every time it happened, they drug it around in circles and <em> nothing happened.  </em></p>
<p>And right now was absolutely <em> not the time for this bullshit.  </em></p>
<p>“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbled, after things got steamy enough Rhys started insulting everyone in Welsh, “I got more information out of Ivan days ago, than this call.”</p>
<p>“Out of <b> <em>who?!” </em> </b></p>
<p>Was that an echo?  He blinked.</p>
<p>Ah, no.  It was just every single one of the UK brothers staring at him incredulously - and Arthur in particular with a narrow-eyed glare - shouting at once.  Francis had turned to look at him with a single elegant brow raised, an amused smirk curling at the edge of his lips.</p>
<p>Well.  That was one way to end that argument.</p>
<p>“Well, you know how Ivan and Alfred are close, right?” he inquired, hoping that wasn’t too surprising.  No one who’d known them in the 1800s could even attempt to claim otherwise, what with how <em> obvious </em>they’d made their friendship.  “I guess it’s a leftover hangup from the Cold War - Alfred always said it goes both ways, at least - they keep an eye out for each other?  And Alfred had an incident a few days ago where he passed out on his way into DC - and somehow, Ivan heard about it, and called him up.”</p>
<p>“Surely Alfred didn’t tell him about the situation?” Rhys mused, “Not when there’s not much he’d be able to do about it.”</p>
<p><em> Well, </em>Matthew mused, Rhys was right about that.  Even if he was right for the wrong reasons.</p>
<p>“Alfred didn’t tell him, no, but that’s not why,” Matthew corrected, “More likely, it was because he didn’t want Ivan to panic and hop a flight over when he didn’t know what the entity could do to anyone who intervenes.”</p>
<p>“So then what’s the problem?” Alistair grunted, staring him down with narrowed eyes through the camera lens.  Matthew wanted to laugh.</p>
<p>The problem was pretty damn obvious.</p>
<p>“Ivan knows Alfred <em> way </em> too well to <em> not </em>be able to tell when he’s being bullshitted,” he said, bluntly.  “He called me about it maybe half a minute after he hung up with Alfred.  I’m almost half sure he’s already booked tickets.”</p>
<p>That was a lie.  Matthew was <em> all </em>sure.  He knew better than to underestimate Ivan’s overprotective tendencies.  Alfred rarely spared any details about it when they got together to watch hockey reruns, eat too much ice cream, and bitch at each other about life.  Brotherly bonding at its finest.</p>
<p>Arthur’s lips curled into a snarl, and Matthew deliberately did not recoil from the sudden surge of fury in the Empire’s eyes, “He’d better not have.  That violent oaf should know better than to meddle in my affairs.  And what use would he be if he came here regardless?  Nothing but a load of dead weight, I’d say.”</p>
<p>“Hear hear,” Alistair huffed, on Arthur’s other side, and Matthew could feel Francis frowning at the brothers four.</p>
<p>Matthew frowned, “And what am I meant to tell Ivan?” he asked, skeptical still.</p>
<p>The brothers frowned in unison, though Arthur’s frown looked more like a sneer than anything else, “Tell Braginsky not to worry himself,” the former Empire scoffed, “we’ll take care of things.”</p>
<p>Matthew felt his frown deepen at the grunts of agreement that came over the line, but said nothing.  He scoffed in the depths of his mind, acknowledging in a wry, defensive part of him that Ivan’s insight might well be better than all of theirs combined.  He might not know the magic they were familiar with - might not have a magical signature here, on Matthew’s and Alfred’s lands - but he was far from unfamiliar with magic.  And when it came to Alfred, he knew, there was <em> no one in the world </em>who knew his brother better than Ivan.</p>
<p>Including Alfred himself. </p>
<p>But it wasn’t worth fighting Arthur about it, he thought, allowing his mind to wander now that Francis had pointedly taken over the conversation - steering it away from the tempestuous discussion that always emerged around Ivan - debating about ticket prices, airports, and landing times catered to when the brothers would be able to pick them up tomorrow.  Arthur wouldn’t even acknowledge Alfred or Matthew as vaguely informed about the magical creatures on their own lands, so confident was he in his own knowledge.  And while some of his brothers were usually more reasonable, even they hadn’t thought to ask more than basic questions of either Alfred or Matthew.</p>
<p>And Ivan was a centuries-old sore spot for Arthur, who nursed an old grudge against the other nation like one would the Olympic flame.  Lord knew what Arthur would say - or even <em> do </em>- if he had even an inkling of what Matthew suspected was going on between Ivan and Alfred.  No, best leave it as it was.  Their discussion had already been emotionally draining.  Matthew didn’t know if he had the energy to instigate another fuss.</p>
<p>That didn’t mean he couldn’t drop his neighbor-across-the-way a friendly warning, though.  Arthur may be willing to ignore the resource Ivan could be to them, but Matthew wasn’t.</p>
<p>Maybe once they were down in the States with Alfred, he and his brother would be able to convince the old Empire to include the former Superpower.  They might even manage it before Ivan showed up of his own accord.  The chances of it working usually doubled when they did it together, after all.</p>
<p>He still remembered that one time, early in his tenure living with Arthur, when Alfred had been struggling to explain wendigos to Arthur, with the man ignoring <em> both of them -  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Wait.  No, that’s not right.  </em>
</p>
<p>Arthur had already known about wendigos by the time Matthew had come to them.  Even if he wouldn’t listen to the pair of child colonies, he listened to their <em> people </em>about the magic and spirits of their lands.  He had to, to colonize the way he did.  And while he had failed at being a decent human being, Arthur had always been a successful colonizer.</p>
<p>One didn’t earn the title of “Empire” lightly.</p>
<p><em> So what had Alfred been talking about then? </em> Because he remembered Alfred had been trying to tell him about it too, even though Arthur had scoffed and walked off.  When Matthew had come down for a month to stay in Virginia with Alfred, his younger brother had almost never left him alone.  He’d been almost constantly anxious about going out of the house around dusk, and had tried to warn them both about something.  Something that had been <em> familiar, </em> even then, but what <em> was </em>it - ?</p>
<p>“I’m telling you, it’s not a bleedin’ siren, ya damned leprechaun!” he heard Alistair bark over the line, bringing him abruptly out of his thoughts and back to the ongoing discussion, “What kind of siren lives in the woods <em> away from the ocean?!  </em>They’re aquatic creatures, ya daft moron.”</p>
<p>“Around noon would probably be best,” Rhys said, effortlessly cutting through Alistair and Reilley’s arguments, addressing Francis as the frenchman made a note on his phone, “we’d be able to avoid the evening rush hour traffic, and hopefully be back hours before dusk becomes a problem.  It’ll allow us a few hours as a buffer, just in case.”</p>
<p>Alistair and Reilley were still arguing about sirens, even as Francis nodded and rattled off a handful of flight numbers as possibilities.</p>
<p>“We don’t have sirens in this area,” he said, interrupting Reilley’s stubborn attempts at convincing everyone otherwise, “The closest thing could possibly be the Qallupilluit or La Llorona - but we’re too far south for the former, and too far to the northeast for the latter.  And they’re not exactly like sirens, more like the - ,” he frowned, grasping at his memories of the Celtic magic and folklore that he’d been taught, “the bodach, I think.  The boogeyman?”</p>
<p>Alistair frowned, not even taking a brief glimmer of victory in winning the argument, before musing, “Do they usually stick to children?”</p>
<p>Matthew remembers the furious warnings of his tribes to the north, and Maria’s frantic admonishments the first time he’d visited her in the South, before she was <em> Maria, </em>and shivered.  And nodded.  “That’s their usual target, yes.”</p>
<p>“Alfred’s a wee bit too old then,” Reilley sighed.</p>
<p>Matthew quirked a smile, the first one he’d had since Ivan had called him last night, “Just a bit,” he agreed.</p>
<p>And then, something shattered.</p>
<p>The sound was heavy, muffled though it was, and carried easily enough through the screen.  And for a long second, everyone had frozen, just staring at each other through the camera, hundreds of miles away.</p>
<p>Then, they moved.</p>
<p>The UK siblings made a mad dash for the basement staircase just as Francis and Matthew exchanged glances with each other.  The silence was weighty, filled with worry.</p>
<p>Rhys stumbled back into view, almost ten minutes late, looking more tired than they’d seen him in an age.</p>
<p>“A window shattered,” he explained, eyes dark, “from the outside.  There are what look like claw markings on some of the shattered pieces of glass.  Alfred was in his room - the one he’d warded, which is concerning on its own - so he wasn’t near the window at the time, but the daze is getting worse.</p>
<p>Matthew swallowed, pushing away fear and the lingering, <em> damning </em>sense of familiarity around the whole thing that was driving him spare, and pulled his resolve tight.  </p>
<p>He nodded tightly to the camera, “We’ll be there tomorrow.”</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>It terrified him a little that he had no idea how he’d gotten here.</p>
<p>While Arthur and his uncles took their conference downstairs, he’d somehow broken past the sealed door - that alone had warnings blaring in the back of his mind, since even freshly fed, the entity had never been able to shatter the protections his mother had taught him so easily - and had settled in front of his shattered window, overlooking the woods.  They were gentle right now, filled with the sounds of a healthy, welcoming forest.  They showed no signs of what lurked in the shadows, just out of sight.</p>
<p>But Alfred, with the chill of hoarfrost creeping against his skin, and the wind - <em> not his wind </em>- laughing mockingly as it curled against the shell of his ear, knew otherwise.</p>
<p>It was waiting.</p>
<p>It was patient.  It had outlasted every lucky escape Alfred pulled off, and it was <em> waiting.  </em></p>
<p>And God, he’d been so very lucky.</p>
<p>
  <em> A young Alfred, who was not yet Alfred, danced gleefully around the massive flower fields.  The frail moon was high, but the moonlight was thin, and he’d danced since the sun had risen, but he didn’t tire. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> A gleam of gold caught his eyes, and the dance faltered.  Curious blue orbs turned to the gleam of gold glowing in the forest.  It felt odd; wrong in a way the babe had yet to learn to fear. </em>
</p>
<p><b> <em>“Little witchling,” </em> </b> <em> a voice cooed to him, drawing the toddling thing to him like a magnet drawn north, </em> <b> <em>“would you like to play a game with me?” </em> </b></p>
<p>
  <em> “Pwetty,” the babe cooed back, toddling forwards as if enchanted with the gleam of gold that reminded the little thing of warm sunlight at high noon. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Bare baby feet brushed the cool, dark tree roots, inches away from the pretty golden eyes and the leering, devastating grin he couldn’t see, when a voice called out behind him.  A name, lost to time, was called out, and the babe turned.  His minder had found him. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His name was called out again, more insistently, voice layered with what the little toddling thing would later learn to be fear, and the little nation-to-be turned away from the writhing shadows only inches away. </em>
</p>
<p><em> The entity snarled, leaping for the child that was </em> <b> <em>getting away, </em> </b> <em> but the babe was too fast, and fearless at that, and he escaped without knowing the danger he’d just confronted. </em></p>
<p>He’d been so lucky then.  So many of his siblings-that-would-have-been had been lost that young.  If he hadn’t been called away...if he had been an inch closer to the entity, when it’d lunged for him.  If his minder hadn’t seen the scene play out and warned his mother to tell him the truth of the creature that stalked them through the woods…</p>
<p>He hadn’t known of the danger then, frolicking as he would in the woods, too young to know any better.  He’d known once his mother had returned, cuddled him close, and wove a story he would never forget.</p>
<p>He swallowed, staring out at the woods, unseeing, as his arms tightened around himself in an attempt at self-comfort that didn’t quite work.</p>
<p><b> <em>“Pretty little witchling,” </em> </b> <em> the entity cooed at him, his small form swallowed by shadows as he screamed desperately for his mother, tears pouring down his cheeks.  Too little and too helpless to do anything else but succumb to the poisoned sleep he would never wake from.  </em> <b> <em>“Finally found you, silly little thing.” </em> </b></p>
<p>
  <em> But as he sunk away, reality hazing in front of him, the entity jerked, and his mother’s furious bellowing war cry echoed across the land.  </em>
</p>
<p>So very lucky.  He’d been so very lucky.</p>
<p>He’d been the only one of his siblings-who-came-before that his mother had managed to rescue in time.  Not that it had stopped the entity from hunting him anyways.</p>
<p>And when Arthur had found him...when Mother had faded….  He swallowed, the memories rising like a viscous, sickly tide.</p>
<p>It had come for him again.</p>
<p><b> <em>“Silly little witchling,” </em> </b> <em> the voice laughed, the wind carrying it to him where he lay shivering, curled up beneath the bed, cowering under his blanket, </em> <b> <em>“you can’t hide from me.  I can see you, little thing.” </em> </b></p>
<p><em> The candle on the nightstand blew out with a soft hiss just as the window cracked and shattered, golden eyes suddenly bright and haunting and </em> <b> <em>in front of him, </em> </b> <em> and Alfred </em> <b> <em>s c r e a m e d -</em> </b> </p>
<p>Arthur had saved him that night, storming into the room at the sound of his fear-filled scream, filling it with light and magic and fury, even if the man had never known what had really happened.  The next day, at the height of noon, he’d snuck around the house and traced his mother’s protection symbols in his blood next to the olde English ones Arthur had carved into the house.  The ones he’d thought would be enough to protect him.</p>
<p>He would never forget them again.</p>
<p>Not even during the War…</p>
<p>
  <em> Shadows seizing him, wrapping around him seamlessly as he screamed.  The entity at his back, laughing in his ear as it dragged him away.  Soundless pleas for someone to find him, to help him, vanishing with the moonlight on a moon-dark night.  </em>
</p>
<p>He’d been saved by lucky chance that night.</p>
<p>Lucky.  He’d been so very lucky.</p>
<p>The wind laughed in his ears, whistling through the open window as Alfred tried to look away from the woods, feeling the terror that had plagued him return to his veins.</p>
<p><em> “It’s too late for you to run,” </em> it laughed, and he felt the chill of hoarfrost like breath against his neck, <em> “Your chance to escape is gone.”  </em></p>
<p>As his fists clenched and the woods entranced him once again, he wondered if his luck had finally run out.</p>
<p>In the distance, he heard something shatter.</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>For a long while, Ivan just stared at his phone.  The screen had since gone dark, the image of Matthew’s phone number dim and faded alongside the ephemeral imprint of the other nation’s frustrated voice, echoing in his ears.</p>
<p><em> “They don’t want you involved,” </em> Matthew had said to him over the phone, quietly, as Francis could be heard rummaging through the kitchen behind him, <em> “I don’t have the ability to counter all four of them - not without Al.  When we arrive tomorrow in the States, I can try again.”  </em></p>
<p>The Canadian had given him some basics - little that he could, he’d said apologetically, with nothing confirmed, and no knowledge of what the creature was or what it wanted, only of it’s fixation on Alfred - and it had only firmed Ivan’s decision to fly out.  Which was a good thing, given his plane took off in a matter of hours.</p>
<p>He stared at his phone still, for a while longer, as the city around him lit up for the night, and then made up his mind.  He would text Alfred when he arrived at the airport, but not a moment before. </p>
<p>And until then, he had a bag to pack.</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>Alfred twisted in his guest room bed, frown tugging at his lips as he slept.  Even sleep was no refuge from the knowledge of what was coming.  No respite from the memories and silent taunts of an entity that grew stronger as it lingered by the woods.  The wind whistled in and out of the small cracks Alfred hadn’t noticed or patched up, tumbling around the sleeping figure with an echoing laughter that seeped into the young nation’s dreams.</p>
<p>On the nightstand, the phone vibrated and lit up, and Alfred stirred briefly before slipping back into a troubled sleep.  The wind tumbled through the room, dancing around the lit screen before laughing delightedly.</p>
<p>And without a word, it vanished back out the window, leaving the restless figure to his nightmare-plagued sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If y'all have any corrections for me please let me know!</p>
<p>Qallupilluit (Inuit Myth): <a href="http://www.inuitmyths.com/story_qua.htm">x</a> <a href="https://tiaandpiujuq.com/qalluipilluit/">x</a> <a href="http://www.our-story.ca/winners/writing/5533:the-qallupilluit-boy">x</a></p>
<p>La Llorona (Native Mexican/Mexican Christian Myth): <a href="https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/la-llorona">x</a></p>
<p>Bodoach (Celtic Myth): <a href="http://emeraldisle.ie/the-bodach">x</a><br/>Wikipedia article also helpful - cites a lot of solid source, good for a look</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Shiver in Your Bones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun trickled in slowly, gentle and cool as the October morning stirred.  It drew across the sleeping nation, splashing across a familiar face like the splatter of freckles that stood out against tanned skin during the hefty, humid months of summer.</p><p>The owner of that pale freckled face stirred, beckoned by the siren song of the warm autumn sun chasing away any remnants of the darkness away from the mind and world alike.  Dawn’s shadows were too fragile and warming for the entity’s tastes, and flush on a night of mildly restless but <em> unbroken </em>sleep, the slowly stirring nation basked in the gentle warmth for as long as he could.</p><p>Perhaps, if he’d allow himself to sleep in just a <em> little </em> more - sleep having become such a precious, almost nonexistent commodity in the war the entity was waging on his sanity - he would be able to block out the sheer <em> wrongness </em>that contaminated the atmosphere growing around him. </p><p>A chill danced down his spine, making him shiver even wrapped as he was in a cocoon of blankets and sheets.</p><p>Something was wrong.</p><p>He blinked awake, staring for a long moment at the brisk rays of dawn splashed about his room, before he pushed himself upright.  His room was untouched, no one had come in while he’d been asleep.  The window wasn’t cracked open, nor was it damaged.  There was no laughter in his ears.</p><p>He wrestled out of his blanket nest, almost stumbling to his feet as he scrambled towards the window.  He cast his gaze over the gleaming woods, staring at the gently rousing forest.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>His heart rate picked up, the powerful roar of river-rapids rushing in his ears until it was almost all he could hear.</p><p>Something was <em> wrong.   </em></p><p>His phone lit up on the nightstand, chiming excitedly with the soft, cheerful tune of his first morning alarm.  He tugged it off of the charging cable and switched off the alarm with an effortless ease, the screen reverting to it’s lock screen, filled with notifications.  He scrolled through them idly, and frowned.</p><p>Ivan had texted him.  Last night, early enough that he should’ve caught Alfred before he’d gone to bed, if he hadn’t decided to turn in early.</p><p>He flicked it open and his lips twitched.  So he’d been right, Ivan hadn’t believed him the night before.  Hadn’t believed him, and had been concerned enough to fly in to check in with him.</p><p>His lips forewent twitching and curled into a smile.  He wanted to be upset, really, but well - it wasn’t out of character.  And he’d missed the big lug, could use that sense of safety the elder nation seemed to wear like a mantle around him.  But the risks, he reminded himself - they’d have to work around those - </p><p>A chill danced down his spine, and the sense of <em> wrongness </em>came back almost tripled.</p><p>
  <em> Ivan - Ivan had texted when he’d been about to take off.  That was a while ago.  Shouldn’t he have already landed, then?  </em>
</p><p>He was being stupid.  Ivan could’ve had a layover.  He could be in town and waiting to surprise him.</p><p>
  <em> He would’ve texted by now, though.  Wouldn’t he?  </em>
</p><p>Ivan’s flight number gleamed, underlined in the text he’d sent, and he tapped it anxiously, watching as it opened up his browser to show the flight status.</p><p>
  <em> Flight Status: Arrived.  </em>
</p><p>He swallowed, eyes slipping shut.</p><p>Three hours ago.  Ivan had arrived <em> three hours ago.  </em> He’d taken a red-eye straight from Moscow, with no stops, late at night and arrived <em> three hours ago.  </em></p><p>He couldn’t breathe.</p><p>There were a million and one reasons that Ivan wouldn’t have called him.  More still, if he knew Alfred’s UK family would be in town.  There shouldn’t be anything to worry about.</p><p>He dialed Ivan’s number.  And then again.  And again.  And once more, to be sure.</p><p>He went through the motions of getting ready, mind clear for the first time in what felt like <em> ages, </em>and then sat down at his breakfast table.  And dialed again.</p><p>
  <em> Something was wrong.  </em>
</p><p>And he had a terrifying feeling he knew just what that was.</p><p>
  <b>.</b>
</p><p>They’d only just gotten through airport security when Matthew’s phone rang, blaring, alarmed and urgent.  He almost dropped it, as startled as he was, and threw embarrassed, apologetic looks at the travelers around him who’d startled with him as he went to answer it.  Francis just gestured him away, going to collect their belongings from the security tray so Matthew could take the call in peace.</p><p>The moment he looked down and caught sight of the caller ID, he’s glad for it.  He almost dropped his phone in the haste to answer.</p><p>“Alfred?” he demanded, whispering old prayers half-remembered in the depths of his mind, hoping nothing had gone wrong, “Alfred, are you alright?”</p><p>There’s a hitched breath on the other end, and voice trembling, Alfred said, “Ivan’s missing.”</p><p>His own breath stuttered for a moment, utterly stunned, because that was the absolute last thing he’d expected to hear today.  “What do you mean?”</p><p>“His flight was supposed to get in this morning,” his brother’s voice was shaking, and Matthew can almost see the way Alfred’s lower lip wobbled, and how he bit down to stop it from getting worse, “He texted me last night, but I - I actually slept through the night.  It’s the first time in <em> ages, </em> Mattie.  And then I woke up, and something was <em> wrong, </em>and now I can’t find Ivan.”</p><p>“You’ve called him?” he asked.</p><p>“Too many times,” Alfred said, pained.  “His main number, some of his burner phones he doesn’t think I know about, his Embassy phone - I even reached out to some of my contacts at the Embassy.  He didn’t tell them he was coming to DC.”</p><p>“The Embassy?” Matthew yelped, surprised and mildly horrified.  The absolute <em> last </em>thing they needed was Russia realizing that their nation had gone missing in the US.  Even if they weren’t sure that’s what had actually happened.</p><p>“Only my discrete contacts, Matt,” his brother was scowling at him now, he was sure, “I know what’s at risk here.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know.  Sorry, just,” Matthew blew out a heavy breath, “Okay,” he said, forcing himself to focus, “okay, wake up Arthur and everyone.  They’re going to have to go look for him.  Make sure they leave someone with you.  It’s entirely possible this is going to be a distraction.”</p><p>“I have to go too,” Alfred bit out, voice set, “It’s <em> Ivan, </em>Mattie.”</p><p>“Al -,”</p><p>“They’re going to get upset that he’s even here.  Even though I <em> know </em> you warned them that he would be coming,” he heard his brother scoff, voice sounding grounded and firmer than he’d expected given what the UK siblings had been telling him the day before.  “And they don’t know how much he knows the area, or where his favorite spots are - I do, Mattie.  And it’s - it’s <em> Ivan, </em>I can’t - ,”</p><p>There was a sniff on the other end, and Matthew felt his heart soften, “It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly, double checking to make sure Francis wasn’t nearby and eavesdropping, “I know.  I know.  You two are still together, aren’t you?”</p><p>“How’d you -?”</p><p>“I’ve suspected for a while,” he said, but didn’t elaborate.  Alfred didn’t need to focus on all the little ways he and Ivan showed, to those who could read them well, that they were totally gone on each other and always had been.  “It’s okay.  If you have to go out, make sure you text me on the hour, okay?  I’ll have the plane’s wifi, so I’ll be able to stay in touch.”  He paused for a long moment, “It’s probably better that you’re the one out looking, since Arthur has to come pick us up from the airport.  Just, if I don’t hear from you on the hour, I’ll sound the alarm, okay?”</p><p>“Okay.”  A long, deep inhale, “Okay.  I’m gonna - ,”</p><p>“On the hour, Al,” he reminded his brother, “I’ll take care of Arthur.”</p><p>“Thanks Mattie,” his little brother said, and he could picture the weak smile drawing on that familiar face, “Best big bro ever.”</p><p>Matthew snorted, “Was that ever in any doubt?”</p><p>He could still hear Alfred’s laughter ring through his ears in the minutes after he’d hung up.  Refreshing, when it felt like he hadn’t heard that sound in ages.</p><p><em> Deep breath, </em> he reminded himself. <em>   In, then out.  Breathe.  </em></p><p>He had to set himself tasks.  Call Arthur, first of all.  Then, find Francis.  Update them both on the situation.  Idly, he set a reminder on his phone that would ping him at the top of the hour.</p><p><em> Deep breaths, </em> he told himself, fingers dancing across the keyboard to spell out a familiar number, <em> deep breaths and let’s go.  No time to waste.  </em></p><p>
  <b>.</b>
</p><p>Now, if you asked anyone who worked with him, they would tell you that Sir Arthur Kirkland was a very polite gentleman who worked in the British government.  He was strict, and had little tolerance for slackers, but he was nonetheless quite proper and - if you caught him in the right mood - he could lend a sympathetic ear to a good number of troubles.</p><p>However, what all the people who worked with Sir Arthur Kirkland didn’t know, was that Sir Arthur Kirkland did not become “Sir Arthur Kirkland” until he’d overslept his alarm by ten minutes, swore at the bloody thing for making him late, tripped over his cat, had at least two cups of tea in the morning and then wrestled himself into his suit like it was a suit of armor.</p><p>In short, polite and proper gentleman Sir Arthur Kirkland was very much <em> not </em>a morning person.  Much less after a long flight, longer phone call, and not nearly enough sleep to deal with bullshit.</p><p>Exhibit A.  When Arthur nearly chucked his phone across the room the moment it blared in the familiar rhythm of the Canadian national anthem, before swearing - loudly - and swiping to accept the call.</p><p><em> “Wot?” </em>he barked through the phone the moment the call connected, manners flattened beneath the weight of frustrated exhaustion and jet lag.</p><p>Matthew’s voice came over the line, “I need you,” he said, words curling slow, but tone firm and utterly immovable, “to stay calm.  To not get pissed, or yell, or distract him.  Is that something you can do?”</p><p>“Matthew,” he grouched, one eye peering out of the covers to glimpse the window, “it is barely past <em> dawn.  </em>What on earth could you possibly want right now?”</p><p>“Can you do that?”</p><p>Arthur grumbled, <em> fer fuck’s sake, </em>“Yes, Matthew.”</p><p>There’s a heavy sigh on the other end.  A pause.  “Ivan landed on US soil hours ago.  He hasn’t been seen since.”  Another pause, as Arthur’s jetlagged and sleep deprived mind abruptly shut down and rebooted trying to process that omen of chaos, “Alfred’s gone looking for him.”</p><p><em> That </em>rebooted him real quick.</p><p>
  <em> “WHAT?!” </em>
</p><p>
  <b>.</b>
</p><p>Calls made, and with Francis on the hunt for something palatable to eat that would meet the Frenchman’s sky-high culinary standards, it left Matthew alone to drop into a chair in the boarding lounge with an exhausted sigh.  His skin was still prickling, hair standing on end as he contemplated the things they knew.</p><p>Or rather, the lack of things they knew.</p><p>Forcing clenched fists to loosen, he raked a hand through his hair, sighing.  A vague description of the creature’s influence on Alfred was all they had.  None of when it started.  Not when it had happened before - though thanks to Al’s slip of tongue, they knew it <em> had. </em>  Not even the vaguest description of what it <em> looked </em>like that could help him narrow things down.</p><p>Reilley had compared it to a siren, a wood-bound one, but a siren nonetheless, and it was a compelling argument.  Alfred going dazed-eyed and losing track of himself at the creature’s call.  Lack of sleep, persistent thoughts only of the creature taunting him.  Perhaps not a siren, but something similar?  Damn it, if it hadn’t been for Alfred being drawn to the woods, they would’ve known the answer.</p><p>Not will-o-wisps, they didn’t have those here.  Not nymphs or dryads or the like - the creatures even vaguely similar to those that they held on their lands adored them.  They didn’t <em> taunt </em>them.  Not like this.</p><p>An entity of the forest.  Something dark and treacherous and <em> intelligent.  </em></p><p>Why on earth did that sound so <em> familiar?  </em></p><p>He cast his mind back, trying to pull on memories centuries old.  From stories told to him by the tribe elders or even as far back as Mother herself.  For a description that seemed just out of reach, a name hovering at the tip of his tongue -</p><p>His phone chimed, and he startled, thoughts fleeing like tumbleweeds into the wind.</p><p>He tugged it out of his pocket, flicking it open with a look, and sighed as he read his brother’s text.  The check in text he’d asked Alfred to send at the top of the hour.</p><p>Which was in - he checked - half a minute.</p><p>Sure enough, thirty seconds later, his phone chimed again, this time with a reminder to make sure Alfred checked in with him.  He flicked it away, resetting it for the next hour, and tucked his phone back into his pocket.  He tried to remember what he’d been looking for, what had struck him that he’d been digging for.</p><p>But the memories fell away like burned firewood crumbling to ashes.</p><p>
  <b>.</b>
</p><p>Alfred had long become used to the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that was commonplace amongst their kind.  They worked long hours, with stressful jobs that couldn’t be recognized or publicized - and often led to trouble when they <em> were </em>- and never seemed to stop.  The only time they ever got a break from the bone-deep exhaustion of their particular line of work was when they removed themselves from the equation altogether.  Some nations called it “taking a break,” a way to heal the exhaustion before it caused something that some time off couldn’t fix.  He was more than familiar with that exhaustion, having grown into it centuries before.  But even then, it was never a pleasant feeling, especially when things became personal.  Coming back from hours of fruitless searching desperately for any information about Ivan going missing only made that clearer.</p><p>He’d driven off to the airport the moment he’d gotten off the phone with Matthew, leaving Arthur to his brother, as promised.  Arthur had a - a <em> thing, </em> against Ivan, that Alfred still hadn’t been able to puzzle out.  Something he was <em> sure </em>was more than just the way Ivan and Alfred had just fallen in together so easily once Alfred had won himself free from his father’s empire.  It’s why he hadn’t bothered to even consider informing Arthur about his venture out of the house - not with how defensive Arthur would get in the wake of such information, on top of the jetlag.</p><p>Something that became <em> abundantly </em>clear when he received a furious phone call from the man himself half-an-hour into his trip up to Dulles.</p><p>He’d used his special access to review security footage at the airport, double checking which bus the elder nation had taken into the city before he’d seemingly vanished.  He’d hop-skipped through DC, tracing the bus, double checking footage, talking to people until he hit a dead end staring off into one of the many forested areas that wound around the district’s borders.</p><p>He’d backtracked then, reaching out to his more discrete contacts within the city and the handful in Moscow he knew Ivan pretended not to know about.  But there was nothing more than what he’d already found.</p><p>Even reaching out to Ivan’s sisters wasn’t helping.  Nat was infamous for how she kept tabs on her brother - stalked him, to put it bluntly, as Ivan often did - but while she had known he’d left for the US, she’d thought it had been one of those secret meetings between her brother and her best friend that she pretended not to know about.  She hadn’t thought much of it otherwise, until Alfred had called.  He had faith she’d come up with something soon, but it didn’t help him now.  And Katyusha, who often knew more than people gave her credit for, had been completely bewildered.</p><p>“So you haven’t heard from him since he took off?” Alfred breathed, a hand reaching up to rake through his hair in an almost unconscious gesture of exhausted frustration.</p><p>He could almost <em> hear </em> Katyusha biting her lip, shaking her head wordlessly, before she responded, voice filled with worry, <em> “No, I’m sorry Fedya.  I didn’t even know he was making the trip until I checked my messages this morning.  He’d sent it on the plane, perhaps.”  </em></p><p>He bit back his tired sigh, “Thanks anyways,” he said, fingers twitching to fiddle with <em> something, </em>“I’ll update you if I find anything.  If nothing changes within a day or two…,” well.  Katya certainly didn’t need him to tell her the consequences.  Hell, even asking around was risky.</p><p>No one wanted word to leak out that Russia was missing.  <em> Especially </em> not that he was missing on a trip to the <em> US.  </em></p><p>Alfred was <em> not </em>onboard for the Cold War, take two, thank you.</p><p><em> “You’ll be discrete?” </em>there was a wordless command in there, harkening back to a time centuries past, and was so achingly familiar that no one who heard it could doubt she was Ivan’s elder sister.  Alfred almost smiled.</p><p>“You have my guarantee,” he replied instead, fingers <em> tap-tapping </em>on his phone case as he spoke.  “If Ivan shows up, I’ll have him reach out to you.”</p><p><em> “Very well,” </em> Kat sighed, <em> “take care of yourself, too, Fedya.  I look forward to hearing from you.”  </em></p><p>“Yeah,” he said, tiredly, “yeah, you too, Katya.”</p><p>The abrupt silence of the line disconnecting echoed in his ear for a long moment, before he sighed, and set the phone down on the island countertop.  The gleam of the sunset’s rays lit it up with a warm glow that suffused the kitchen.</p><p>
  <em> Fuck.  </em>
</p><p>He set his face in his hands, pressing his eyes closed hard enough to see spots.</p><p>
  <em> Fuuuuuuuuuuck.   </em>
</p><p>It was sunset.  It was sunset, he hadn’t found Ivan yet, and Arthur and the others were in rush hour traffic because Matthew and Francis’s flight had been delayed and they still needed a ride from the airport.</p><p>He was home alone, it was sunset, and his lover was still missing.</p><p>He needed coffee.</p><p>His phone clattered to the countertop as he pushed away from the island in the kitchen and moved towards the coffee maker.  And, almost as an afterthought, towards the fridge.  Ivan would give him that <em> look </em>he always gave him when the elder nation thought he was neglecting his health.</p><p>Sandwich assembled and coffee bubbling cheerfully in it’s mug, Alfred plopped himself back onto the barstool and snatched up his phone from the island counter just as it pinged.</p><p>Blinking, he opened the newest notification, only to sigh.  It was just his reminder to text Matt at the top of the hour.</p><p>Sliding open the messenger app, he typed out his “I’m not dead” text and was about to send it when he was hit with the oddest sense of unease.  It was a dripping chill sluicing down his spine, causing him to shiver, but not the touch of hoarfrost he’d become so familiar with.</p><p>He bit down on his lip, checking the time.  He still had some time before Mattie’s mandatory check in.  Maybe he should clear his head a bit….</p><p>The easiest way would’ve been to go for a walk.  But - his eyes darted to the woods, rustling ominously in the wind’s sway - he doubted that was a <em> smart </em>idea right now.</p><p>Instead, he switched to his gallery app, flicking through cheerful puppies and confused kittens, amongst the dozens of animals he snuck pictures of whenever he got the chance.  He flipped through them until he ran out, munching on his sandwich as he went, and then, he switched to a less public album in his gallery.</p><p>Him and Ivan ice skating at Rockefeller center.  Him and Ivan on the Neva River at dusk.  Him and Ivan volunteering at a pet shelter.  Him and Ivan at Disney World.  At NASA’s public museum in Houston.  At their Alaska cabin.  Under the Eiffel Tower.  Under the Aurora Borealis.</p><p>Just him and Ivan, together in a hundred or more different ways.</p><p>It occurred to him, in that dazed moment of just <em> remembering, </em>that this was the clearest he’d felt all day.</p><p>His phone chimed just as the light shifted in the room, signalling the approaching night, and he sighed as he turned to look out the window.</p><p>And nearly had a heart attack.</p><p>Ivan was standing there, he realized, standing up so fast he sent the barstool he’d been perched on toppling over with a <em> clang! </em> Ivan was standing at the tree line.</p><p>Relief flooded him like a storm surge, and he nearly let it carry him outside to drag his missing lover back into the safety of the house.</p><p>Nearly.</p><p>Nearly, because, once the split second of buoyant relief passed, unease set in, grasping at him like the hidden undertow in flooding waters.</p><p>Ivan wasn’t looking at him.  He wasn’t looking at <em> all, </em> no.  He was just staring ahead, blankly, at the house, eyes glazed over so notably that even all the way inside the house, Alfred could <em> tell. </em> And how on earth had Ivan gotten past the wardings that should’ve, at the very least, alerted Alfred to his presence?  And why - he swallowed anxiously - why was he standing just inside the treeline?</p><p>Behind Ivan, the shadows shifted. His phone clattered to the ground, falling from limp fingers to smack hard against the hardwood floor.</p><p><em> No.  </em> His breath hitched.  <em> No, </em> <b> <em>please. </em> </b></p><p>Golden eyes gleamed at him triumphantly from the shadows over Ivan’s shoulder, and laughter chilled him soul deep as the window cracked and the wind called it to him.</p><p><em> No.  No, he </em> <b> <em>can’t - </em> </b></p><p>The voice in his ears cackled, <em> “Come out, little witchling,” </em> it crooned, the thing of nightmares and an old terror he’d wished he could forget, <em> “The time for hiding is done.  Come out from your shelter, little thing.  The time for bargaining has begun.”  </em></p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nat is, of course, Natalya (Belarus), who is also - if anyone is vaguely familiar with my take on Alfred’s relationship with Ivan’s sibs - Alfred’s best friend.  They’re RIDE OR DIE, and NO ONE WILL TELL ME OTHERWISE.  *coughs*  Katyusha and Katya (or Kat, as Alfred occasionally thinks of her as), are both diminutives for Yekaterina or Ekaterina, which are commonly used names for Ukraine in the fandom.  Fedya is, of course, Ivan’s diminutive for Alfred, and his elder sister often adopts it as well when she talks to him.</p><p>Also just - taking some creative liberties with the flight times.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Insidious Bargain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, there’s a lot of italics, some of it is the entity speaking and some of it is Alfred having flashbacks. I clearly denote anytime the entity is speaking, so hopefully there won’t be too much confusion about the distinction?  Let me know what you think? </p>
<p>
  <b>[Also, Chapter CW: Suicidal Thoughts]</b>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There were a million thoughts that raced through his head the moment it registered what the entity was telling him, but he couldn’t tell anyone concretely what even one of them was.  The flood of panic and overwhelming terror combined with spiking adrenaline leeched the memory from his brain, turning it pale and faded, with only the core of it remaining.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later, he would remember how his heart rate skyrocketed as the voice’s soft, triumphant murmurs curled into the curve of his ear.  Later, he would remember his phone slipping from numb fingers, hitting the hardwood floor at an unfortunate angle, and causing the tempered glass screen protector - if not the phone itself - to crack.  Later, he would remember the way he couldn’t look away from the golden eyes that haunted his nightmares, as if he was frozen in place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later, when he was tucked into his lover’s side, plied with hot chocolate and warm blankets, and fragrant candles lit all about the room to chase the chill and lingering miasma of the entity away, he would remember.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then, in the moment, nothing registered except the heart-stopping terror that accompanied the realization of what was happening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s here.  It’s </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>here </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>and it has </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Ivan. </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The entity smirked at him, malicious and triumphant all the same, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Come out, come out little thing.  Time will not wait.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred dropped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The moment golden eyes no longer held his - down on the floor, just below the window ledge - he snatched up his phone from the floor.  Quick fingers tugged off the screen protector, revealing the mostly intact phone underneath, and scrambled across the touchscreen surface.  Call after call after call that went nowhere.  The loaded text he’d already written for his brother wouldn’t send.  He breathed in, held, breathed out, and dialed again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Answer, please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he pleaded, </span>
  <em>
    <span>answer answer answer.  The one time I need you, answer the phone </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>please. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Outside, the entity laughed, and it sent a spike of chill straight down into his bones.  The lights in his kitchen flickered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scrambled across the floor, pressing his back against the base of the countertop as the pulse of his racing heart echoed like drum beats in his ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Answer, please. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dial tone sounded like a funeral dirge, blowing out all of Alfred’s hopes like a pinched-out candle flame.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wind laughed at him, and he shivered as it danced about the kitchen, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Tik tok, little witchling,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>it whispered giddily, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re on the clock, silly thing.”  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt himself still at that.  He threw a look at the phone in his hand, swallowing hard as he stared at the long list of unanswered.  Hands shaky, he switched to the gallery app and stared, for a long, hard moment, at the pictures he’d been looking at only a few minutes ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hoarfrost iced down his spine, and the entity’s laughter echoed in his ears.  He bit his lip, and let himself straighten up, injecting whatever courage he had left into his spine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was out of time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stood.  He set his phone down on the counter, where someone would find it later, and turned towards the double doors leading out onto the back deck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ignored the way golden eyes stared at him, rapturous.  He had to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t change what he was going to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands were shaking as he twisted the handle on the door, pushing it open outwards onto the back deck.  He let it swing closed, turning half way - no way was he going to let the creature at his back - and bit down on the pad of his index finger until he drew blood.  He traced familiar symbols, the ones his mother had taught him once upon a time, on the double doors that led into the house.  Sealing it tight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With him on the other side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned back, and the entity was </span>
  <em>
    <span>grinning </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Precious little thing,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>it cooed at him as he walked towards it, darkly amused and filled with delight, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“you’ve finally met your match.  Shame that it will have such consequences.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shame for me, or shame for you?” he asked, feeling a lick of courage return to him along with the righteous fury at being blackmailed as he was, “Cause I’m not seeing a downside for you in this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bold little thing you’ve become,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the entity acknowledged with a smirk, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“but it is not untrue.  You have a decision to make.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not take what you want?” he demanded, eyes hard as flint, “You’ve never hesitated before.”  And now, when Alfred was inches away from the entity itself, why hesitate?  Why the game?  Why the </span>
  <em>
    <span>choice? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The entity’s smirk was sinister, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“There is a power in choice, little witch,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>it laughed, dark and treacherous, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“A willing sacrifice is a far greater treasure than otherwise.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred swallowed, staring at the dazed face of his love, and said, “There is no choice in this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“There is,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the entity corrected him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“but you have already decided upon it.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred felt his hands curl into fists but said nothing, heart racing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The entity </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiled, “So,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>it breathed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“what will it be, little witch?  Your love or your life?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Alfred… he, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ve been scoffing at that book for </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>hours, </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Ivan,” he drawled, turning his head from the stars and propping up his chin with his hand as he shifted to face his companion.  “And you still haven’t told me what it’s about.”  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Because it is bothersome,” Ivan scoffed, eyeing the book in his hands before setting it down next to the lantern he’d been reading by, “It is a silly story, completely untenable in real life.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Alfred rolled his eyes, “Fiction’s like that, you know?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes, yes,” Ivan waved it off, “I’m aware.  But this story - it’s about having absolute trust in someone.  It’s completely unrealistic.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Alfred jolted, staring at Ivan, confused.  “How’d you mean?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, it talks about the main character having to make a big decision,” Ivan sighed, moving to mirror Alfred’s position so his neck did not stiffen up as they talked, “And they ask their loved one to trust them, no matter what happens.  Then, they make what seems to be the wrong choice, and yet, through the machinations of the plot, everything ends up alright.  It’s simply impossible to imagine such a thing would happen in real life.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It doesn’t sound so bad,” Alfred said, somewhat hesitantly, even as Ivan shook his head.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re young still, little one,” the Empire said, “It is barely the turn of the century and you’ve yet to see three decades of your own independent government.  You will learn soon, absolute trust is an impossible thing.  Especially for us.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I dunno,” he murmured back, once Ivan had already turned back to watch the stars, “it’s kind of hopeful, you know?  To think that someone can trust you like that?  That you can have that kind of trust in someone else.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He paused, and for a long moment, he was sure that Ivan wasn’t paying attention, but he smiled and said, quietly, “It’s a little like love, I think.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This time, Ivan’s quiet was a heavy, deliberate thing.  “Love, America?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“For someone to trust me like that,” he said, voice whisper soft and barely there, “To trust someone like that.  Isn’t that what love is, in a way?  To trust someone with all that you are?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Alfred’s smile was small, bright but pained, “What else is love, if not the ultimate act of trust?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ultimate act of trust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stared into dazed violet eyes, seeing yet not comprehending what was happening.  He would, soon.  He would remember.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you trust me, darling?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hoped Ivan could forgive him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, little witchling?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the entity rasped, smirk wide.  It had him and they both knew it.  Alfred couldn’t stall for his family to get here, and risk losing Ivan to the entity.  He wouldn’t do anything but agree.  A choice that was not a choice.  Not to him.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Are we agreed?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You won’t use him again,” Alfred demanded, voice unyielding and eyes hard as he shifted to stare into the darkness behind his lover, “He’s immune, left out of this.  You - any plots on this land, they will </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>touch him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The entity chuckled, amused, and Alfred could feel it smile against the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“So be it,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the entity agreed magnanimously, dark amusement palpable around them, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“for once I have you, what need will I have for him?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred felt his hands curl into fists, balled tightly against his side, but forced the fury and the terror back.  “We’re in agreement, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shadows darkening with the night’s arrival seemed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>grow, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he could feel teeth in the grin this time.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“We have an accord,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the entity agreed,</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Seal your pact, little witch.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shadows receded, creating a small bubble around the pair of nations.  Alfred took a step forward, bare inches away from his lover, a hand reaching up to gently curl around the other man’s jaw.  Ivan’s glazed eyes stared over his shoulders, and Alfred had to force himself not to flinch at the unnatural look on the other man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He maneuvered them easily enough, so that they’d mirrored each other’s positions.  Ivan stood where Alfred had, just outside the treeline - outside the entity’s dominion - and Alfred just within it.  He could feel the shadows grow at his back, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>the being was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>waiting, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the eternal patience the earth knew all too well lingering just out of sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred swallowed, feeling all his nerves return en masse.  This was it.  This was his gamble.  He wouldn’t be able to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>after this.  His fate would be firmly in the hands of the others; in his father, who might come for him like Mother had centuries ago.  In Matthew, who would tear their lands apart looking for him.  In Ivan, who would </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>what had happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t even entertain the thought of the being letting him go.  The entity that had stalked him for </span>
  <em>
    <span>centuries, </span>
  </em>
  <span>waiting to feast, would never be so easily appeased by such an act of mercy.  His heart remembered every one of his siblings-who-came-before, stolen and devoured as babes, never given the chance to grow, and revised the thought.  He doubted the entity was even capable of mercy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grasping hold of every last ounce of courage he had, he stepped closer, toeing the treeline, and leaned up to press his lips against Ivan’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their lips connected and something </span>
  <em>
    <span>shattered. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The world was too much.  It ached, it hurt so soul deep that there was no escape from it.  Paranoia dripped like bleach through his veins, making him writhe and scream in silence as the world faded into blacks and whites, with no gray to soothe him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The conference was done, meetings all tidied up for the weekend, all celebratory drinks drunk, and Alfred was alone in his hotel room.  He was alone, but he was </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>never </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>alone, because he could see them.  He could see enemies in his shadows, he saw treachery in the eyes of loved ones.  He saw betrayal and brutality in everything, a perversion of what he was at his core warping him down into nonexistence.  McCarthy would be pleased.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was standing at the balcony in his room.  He didn’t know how he’d gotten here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wanted to sleep, but sleep was never peaceful anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His hands gripped the balcony railing, and he wondered -</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It wouldn’t take much, he knew.  And death was different for nations than it was for humans.  He would be out for a few days, perhaps as long as a week, he thought.  He had drunk too much in the bar downstairs, “celebrating” the conclusion of the conference, and it wouldn’t be inexcusable.  He could tell his boss it was bad timing - he left the balcony door open, he was stupid and tipsy and he tripped, and then maybe he could </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>sleep…. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Familiar cold, callused hands pulling him away from the ledge.  A shaking full body sigh.  Worry hidden in fury.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Amerika, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Alfred, </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>don’t -,”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t,” he heard himself say, hiccuping on a sob he didn’t know was there.  Was his face warm?  He wondered why.  “I can’t get them out of my head, Vanya.”  Ivan shook his head.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you trust me, darling?” he heard Ivan ask, voice fading.  “Will you stay with me?  Just for one more night, if you can bear it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How could Ivan even ask that?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“One more night,” he breathed, letting Ivan’s arms wrap around him tightly and pull him away.  Away from the balcony.  Away from the sleep he craved so desperately.  Away from a road his love couldn’t follow him down.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His answer, after all, had never changed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you trust me?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Always.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled away from chaste kiss just in time to see awareness return to Ivan’s eyes, the horror of realization forcing them wide shortly after, before the aftermath of possession took its toll.  Ivan slumped, sliding into unconsciousness and collapsing onto the ground just outside of the tree line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could as much as reach out to catch the other man, shadows struck, wrapping around him like chains of ice, stealing the very breath from his lungs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stared, terror heavy in his heart and on his tongue, as the entity grew in front of him, the shadows swelling around them and enveloping the woods.  Golden eyes filled with power - </span>
  <em>
    <span>his power, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alfred noted, terrified - grew </span>
  <em>
    <span>brighter </span>
  </em>
  <span>as the shadows darkened, icy tendrils lashing around him tightly, dragging him backwards into the woods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bruised purple sunset that had been visible over the trees was overwhelmed by an ink darkness so deep he couldn’t even see the trees.  All he could see was the pair of golden eyes staring at him in a triumphant glee that drove the terror building in his veins even higher, memories he’d once thought long gone pushing to the forefront once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Golden eyes stalking his steps as he ran gleefully through the woods, not knowing of danger because he’d never felt it before, so new to the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Golden eyes peering at him as his blanket-wrapped shoulders shook, safe and sound, in the protection of the newly warded cabin.  Clinging to the candle that chased away the darkness that would steal him away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Golden eyes in his dreams, the ice of breath at his neck, haunting him as he raced through cornfields and snuck through the woods, terror mounting through his veins for reasons more than the redcoats on his tail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shadows curling around his arms, an almost incorporeal hand lashed around his mouth, stealing his screams.  The luck of a wandering soldier with his lantern breaking the darkness.  Safe.  Escaped.  But it was so </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>close, </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>it wanted to </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>feast, </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>and Alfred had nowhere to run, and no one coming to save him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, the very earth turned against him, shaking him out of old memories, with the wind’s cackling laughter echoing in his ears.  Alfred’s yelp was swallowed by the howling darkness of the woods.  Roots wound themselves around his wrists and ankles like manacles, grounding him within the very earth itself.  Something sharp pricked his wrist, and suddenly the forest turned hazy, and the scream that wanted to wrench out of him withered within him.  His eyes fluttered, even as the being of the woods chuckled, the wind tickling his ear, filling him with its delight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sleep little witchling,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> the being crooned into his ear, voice like the chill of hoarfrost sneaking down across his skin, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Sleep.  Sleep to never awake again.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And awake, trapped inside his own body with no one to hear him, Alfred screamed.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Shorter than usual chapter, I know, but this was just one major scene, and I didn't think stretching it out more would've really helped much?  BUT, we're coming up to the action now, and ooh is chapter 5 a doozy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Of Best Laid Plans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ivan woke to a frantic, familiar voice, and hands trying desperately to rouse him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t Alfred.  It </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t be </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alfred, no matter that he desperately wanted it to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It couldn’t be Alfred, because Ivan had </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alfred.  Had woken from a shattered sleep to the press of familiar lips on his.  Had opened his eyes and stared straight into terrified blue orbs, and then through them to the horrifying golden ones hovering just over his lover’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you trust me?” </span>
  </em>
  <span> A wordless demand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Always.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d passed out, then.  But he would swear that in his dreams he’d heard Alfred scream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, the process of elimination completed before he’d even opened his eyes, the moment violet orbs snapped open, he knew who the figure was before him, barely illuminated by the moonlight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It couldn’t be Alfred, who’d traded himself for Ivan’s safety in a move he </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>be talking to his lover about </span>
  <em>
    <span>when </span>
  </em>
  <span>they got him back from the winter be damned shadow-creature that had stolen him away.  So despite the terrifying resemblance, he knew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Matvey,” he croaked, voice hoarse, eyes fastening on the frantic figure crouched over his fallen form.  He pushed himself up, ignoring all the aches and pains that rippled through him, and breathed, “Matvey, it took Alfred.  Bargained with him.  It was targeting him the entire time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard cursing around him, but he focused on Matthew’s face.  He watched the way it tightened, the way indigo eyes burned, and a righteous drive ousted the beginnings of grief.  The way the other nation’s arm clasped his and pulled him up with a strength only just lesser than his brother’s.  Anything to distract him from the fury burning through his veins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anything to distract him from the guilt he was pushing away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Should I have waited? </span>
  </em>
  <span>His mind whispered, agonized, </span>
  <em>
    <span>should I have let them handle it? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No.  He pushed the guilty line of thought away.  He had done what he would’ve done, regardless of the situation.  He had never hesitated to go to his love whenever the other needed him.  The same had always been true in reverse as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, waiting wouldn’t have helped.  The creature would’ve found another way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan would make sure it would </span>
  <em>
    <span>regret </span>
  </em>
  <span>that it hadn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you remember what happened?” Matthew asked, dragging Ivan from his thoughts of increasingly bloody vengeance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was around sunset,” he recalled, brows furrowed as he tried to pull from the hazy memories he did have of the event, “They made a deal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What will it be, little witch?  Your love or your life?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if the cursed thing didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>what Alfred would choose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I passed out,” he added, grimacing, remembering the desperate need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>reach </span>
  </em>
  <span>and grab his lover before he was stolen away from him.  Of being unable to move, swaying and </span>
  <em>
    <span>falling </span>
  </em>
  <span>and slipping away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan swore, gesturing violently towards the woods, and his glare could’ve burned the world to ashes.  He turned to face the pale UK siblings, ignoring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why was he left alone?” he demanded, the incredulity mixed with a disgusted awe that someone could be so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid, </span>
  </em>
  <span>“It does not take four people to drive a car.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur flushed brightly, visible even in the washed out darkness, and his eyes narrowed.  Matthew put his face in his hands and mumbled something that sounded distinctly like, “Here we go again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We warded the house before we left,” Arthur snarled, hands clenching around empty air like they longed for a familiar weapon, “He would’ve been perfectly safe if it wasn’t for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Ivan sneered, calling up the age old disdain he had for the island nation, “tell me why this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>fault.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur went fully red, and even his brothers had turned, looking angry or disdainful.  Matthew, curiously, was upset.  But not at him.  He was watching Arthur with something ancient, dark and furious gleaming deep in those eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before anyone could jump in, Ivan continued, eyes dark and angry.</span>
</p>
<p><span>“Let me remind </span><em><span>you, </span></em><span>then, what happens when you don’t give the others involved the full picture,” he sneered, barely keeping himself from snarling at the furiously glaring Empire, “That </span><em><span>thing,” </span></em><span>he spat, “used me.  It knew I was coming.  I had no warning, no understanding of what it was.  No idea as to what measures I could take.  And it took me because I was </span><em><span>leverage </span></em><span>that</span> <span>it could use, and it worked.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>The air around them almost popped with how frigid it became, the temperature dropping in Ivan’s unhidden rage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So tell me again,” he smiled, the terrifying little thing that had frightened the world twice over when he had been at the height of his power, “why this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>fault.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew, thankfully for Ivan’s sanity and the island brothers’ ongoing good health, interjected before things between the two former Empires could get any more heated, “But how did it take you?” his fellow arctic nation asked, a frown twisting his lips, “How did it even know where you were?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan shook his head, letting fury fall away, “I don’t know,” he said, as frustrated as the others.  “It was dark when I landed, just before dawn.  I took a cab into the city to go get breakfast before I came to the house - and the cab broke down on a forest road.  I got out, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>there. </span>
  </em>
  <span> I don’t know how it knew, but it did.  The next thing I can remember clearly was Alfred standing in front of me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence echoed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t remember everything they said,” he admitted, trying desperately to push past the haziness of the recollection, knowing that there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>important there, something Alfred had said that he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>pin down, “Alfred - he turned us around, put his back to the woods.  Pushed me away.  And then everything went dark for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No.  That's not true.  You heard him scream for you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then what use are you?” Arthur snapped at him, fists clenched, and Ivan felt the fury roaring back, “If you have nothing to contribute?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew groaned, throwing up his hands in wordless frustration, halting the entire conversation before it spiraled into something truly unforgivable.  “Alright,” he growled, “that’s it.  Clearly we can’t have a thorough conversation out here right now.  Let’s get inside, eat something - Francis will kill us all if we don’t - and then we can talk about this in the morning.  Come up with a game plan.”  That burning indigo gaze turned to the forest, just behind Ivan, and if it could’ve, it would’ve set the trees ablaze.  “I don’t want to risk that thing coming back to listen in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur and Ivan - however pissed they were at each other - saw the rationale behind that.  Ivan shrugged, nodding in wordless acquiescence, just as Arthur grunted a hefty “Fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank god,” Matthew groaned, just a little too loud as he moved towards the deck, and Arthur turned red even as Ivan rolled his eyes.  He was not the one drawing this out for meaningless posturing, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And Arthur,” Matthew called back, causing them to stop, startled at the unexpected call and freeze at the almost politely murderous look on the younger nation’s face.  “If you don’t get your shit together and stop assuming you know what’s best, I’ll take Ivan with me and we’ll take care of this </span>
  <em>
    <span>ourselves.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew smiled, ancient, dark, and dangerous like the wild northern reaches of his land that touched the forever-frozen seas.  And turned, walking back into the house as if he hadn’t terrified four significantly older nations and impressed another.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How often did they forget, Ivan mused idly, that Matthew was Alfred’s brother?  Kind, gentle, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>reserved </span>
  </em>
  <span>Matthew.  Caring, nurturing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>quiet </span>
  </em>
  <span>Matthew.  Up against younger, rebellious, vicious, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ruthless </span>
  </em>
  <span>little Alfred.  Kind, cheerful,</span>
  <em>
    <span> brilliant </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alfred.  How quickly did they forget about the viciousness and cunning of Canada’s First peoples, before the disease and conquest took them?  How quickly did they forget Vimy Ridge and the burning of DC?  How quickly did they forget which of the brothers had all but </span>
  <em>
    <span>raised </span>
  </em>
  <span>the other, before the colonizers of Europe knew of the New World as anything more than the edge of the world?  In humans as it was in nations - some things never changed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched Matthew cut open his own palm, letting the blood seep down towards his fingers, and retraced the elegant symbols Alfred had left on the double doors only a few hours before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blood told.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wondered, idly, as they wandered inside, why the entity had never gone after Matthew the way it had clearly targeted Alfred.  Perhaps it was strength, though both brothers had that in abundance.  But perhaps, it was not a matter of how similar they could be, but in the ways they were different that drew the entity’s eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan could remember its thoughts, the bone deep yearning to devour Alfred’s brilliance.  Remembered seeing his lover as </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>than just his earthly shell, as a bonfire burning bright and golden like the heralding of dawn.  Watched the faint shadows the entity had sent out to influence the young nation be </span>
  <em>
    <span>burned away </span>
  </em>
  <span>with the fierceness of Alfred’s drive.  Felt the bone deep yearning to devour that fierceness and never let it go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More than that, Ivan had felt its </span>
  <em>
    <span>obsession </span>
  </em>
  <span>with his lover.  Ivan was intimately acquainted with obsession and it’s catastrophic downsides, and he knew without a doubt that was what the being felt towards Alfred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he knew that’s how they were going to take it down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The little wind spirit watched eagerly, curiously even, as the young nation his friend had been chasing succumbed to the poisoned sleep at long last.  The little</span>
  <em>
    <span> wind-earth-freedom </span>
  </em>
  <span>child he’d once been had grown into someone stronger.  His power burned rich and golden through the shadows the spirit’s friend controlled, and they glutted it like the little ones that had come before.  It was so strong, the spirit noticed, not at all like the little candle flare the witchling had once been.  It was more like the </span>
  <em>
    <span>burning-driven-earth</span>
  </em>
  <span> that walked the lands before the witchling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The little spirit shivered as it tumbled along the breeze, careful not to get too close.  That one had been scary, burning bright, her amber energy blazing like the fire she could wield.  She’d hunted them both as ruthlessly as they’d hunted her children, but the little wind spirit could understand that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It knew very well the feeling of protecting what was </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was quite content now, where it was, watching it’s friend stare rapturously at the still form of the young witchling, caught at last.  The little spirit was glad that it could’ve helped it’s friend with such a chase.  It had been the one to hear that the little witchling’s lover was coming, and had been the one to suggest the leverage.  The lover - </span>
  <em>
    <span>ice-burning-devotion </span>
  </em>
  <span>- had no magic.  It was easy enough for the little spirit’s friend to overwhelm the older nation, and bargain with little </span>
  <em>
    <span>wind-earth-freedom.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>It had worked wonderfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now the little witchling was here, caught, as the little wind spirit’s friend glutted on that gleaming, burning bright well of power.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, it also made the little spirit hesitate.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Burning-driven-earth </span>
  </em>
  <span>had been a bonfire of power.  It had burned the forest friend the little spirit aided, scalded it and nearly ripped it apart.  It had been too powerful for the spirit’s friend to handle.  That’s why it’s friend had stuck to glutting itself on little nationlings - the ones who couldn’t defend themselves, who were stable little snacks of energy that wouldn’t burn it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little </span>
  <em>
    <span>wind-earth-freedom </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t little anymore.  Wasn’t that candle flare of energy that would satisfy the spirit’s friend.  He was a bonfire like his mother, a chamber of magma as deep and expansive as the one lingering underneath the layers of earth, not yet shorn away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And as the little spirt’s friend began to grow, filled and feasting on that beautiful golden power, the entity began to crack.  Seams of golden power breaking through, unbalanced and unstable as the entity grew and grew and </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughed </span>
  </em>
  <span>like it never had before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the little spirit wondered, quiet and worried, if the little witchling’s power would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>too much </span>
  </em>
  <span>for it’s friend to handle.  Just like his mother had been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deep within an almost unassailable forest, away from the increasingly unstable entity that held him captive, Alfred lay still in an enchanted sleep.  Shadows wrapped tightly around him, glowing faintly with the golden power they drained from him as he lay, helpless, atop his bed of grass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But as his body slumbered, his mind </span>
  <em>
    <span>remembered. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He had been so </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>stupid. </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> So, unforgivably stupid.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So, unbearably, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>lethally </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>stupid.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He ran through the forest, breath whisked away on the wind.  His footfalls were as silent as he could make him, each rustling of the forest sending a spike of terror unlike anything he’d ever known snaking down his spine.  The forests had always been safe for him.  They’d been </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>his</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>, like the wind, like the land.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But this night, with only a sliver of moonlight kissing his skin to guide him, the forests were not his.  They weren’t safe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d forgotten.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Something else stalked the woods.  Stalked </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>him </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>through the woods, like it had stalked all his siblings before him, and devoured them.  Babies, toddlers, children - all they’d been, all his mother’s children, her successors who’d come before him - had fallen to the insidious being hunting him through the woods.  The being that stole them away in shadows, drained their life force and glutted itself on their energy while his mother mourned and the land fractured, with no successor to take up her mantle.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As it would again, if he fell here.  If he fell, a new personification would be born, and they wouldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>know </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>of the being in the forest’s shadows which hunted them.  Not like Alfred had known, because Mother had told him.  Like all his siblings who’d been old enough knew, because they’d lived long enough to be told.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t think of the countless ones who hadn’t been old enough.  The ones who’d been lost too soon.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The same fate that would befall any of his successors.  They would be his children, and if Alfred fell, he couldn’t protect them.  His lands, his children, his people would </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>die. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He ran faster.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The moonlight vanished behind a cloud of shadows and Alfred felt his breath hitch, a sob of desperation caught in his chest, but he pushed it away.  He forced himself to go faster, even when his legs were screaming, his chest was heaving, and he couldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>breathe. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Behind him, something shifted and </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>laughed. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Alfred’s chest was heaving, but he still couldn’t seem to take in enough air to </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>breathe</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>.  Wind was his element, his power, just </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>his, </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>in the same way the earth was.  It sang to him, whispered truths and rumors that it had stolen away from all the farthest reaches of the world, boosted him up when he flew, cradled him like its beloved child -</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And yet, now, it betrayed him, in the grasp of something else that giggled at his frantic dash through the woods.  It laughed at him, not mocking, but in simple glee, as he ran with a nightmare at his heels, stealing his breath and growing his terror as the shadows darkened around him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Alfred fled, desperately hoping that someone would find him.  That someone would save him, because his body was faltering, his breath stolen away and his magic too weak to save himself.  Weakened by war, by internal conflict, by his youth that drove him and damned him in the same breath -</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If Arthur himself walked in front of him and chased the darkness away, Alfred would drop down at his father’s feet and surrender, resign himself and his people to the Empire’s non-existent mercy just to escape the presence stalking his steps.  And that thought almost terrified him more than the nightmare he was desperately trying to outrun.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wasn’t fast enough.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The shadows snagged his ankles first, sending him tumbling forwards and his feet were snatched out from under him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He hit the ground with a painful thud that stunned him for a brief, crucial moment.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was long enough.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shadows wrapped his arms together, pulling them close and tight above his head and then yanking him backwards before he could get his bearings straight and - </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And there was a puff of breath like hoarfrost against his neck, and an arm - corporeal and tangible, but ephemeral like fog - wrapping around him, pulling him against something else, drawing him closer to the nightmare -</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The nightmare that </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>had him. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>“Little witchling,” </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>it whispered, an insidious address that sent terror spiraling through his veins, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>“Mine at last.” </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It gagged him before he could scream, but that didn’t stop him from trying.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He screamed and thrashed soundlessly, as shadows wrapped around him, binding him tightly to the entity that hovered behind him, the breath of hoarfrost at his neck sending ice down his spine.  His boot caught on a stray root and he tried, desperately, to hook onto it, and drag himself out of the shadow’s grasp.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A shadowy tendril wrapped itself around his ankle instead, tugging him loose, and the entity behind him laughed as his terror and despair spiked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Please, </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>he sobbed soundlessly, as shadows draped around him, dragging him back into the forest he would never escape from; towards a death he wouldn’t wake from, a fate all the siblings of the land that came before him had suffered.  As he remembered the last time he’d had that breath of hoarfrost on his neck, and shadows shrouding him as he screamed for his mother to save him.  Too young to save himself.  </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Please, someone. Anyone! </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Some things never changed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The entity laughed again, the ephemeral hand of shadow clasped around his mouth tightening to keep him silent.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Silly little witchling,</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>” it cooed to him as tears dripped down his cheeks, “</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>All alone in the forest, with no one to hear you cry.  Mother’s not here to save you anymore.  But,” </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>it paused, and Alfred froze, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>“ just in case...</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The shadow wrapped around his ankle tightened its grip until Alfred could feel the bone fracture and give, and he forced himself to swallow down the moan of pain that nearly escaped him as the entity laughed, delighted, its voice a terrifying whisper dancing around him on the wind.  Even if Alfred could get free, he couldn’t run.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Arms wrapped around him, pushing away the shadowy shroud, and twisted him until he was face to face with the gleaming golden eyes that had haunted him for as long as he could remember.  Golden eyes that would be the last thing he saw.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Until -</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gold.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gold and gleaming and </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>bright, </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>filled with warmth rather than inspiring terror.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>“No,” </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>the entity snarled, turning to watch, furious, as shadows recoiled at the approaching gleam, tightening its hold on the terrified young nation as it felt terror recede in the wake of something far more damning to it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hope.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The golden light - for that’s what it was, Alfred realized with a dizzying burst of hope - drew closer, and the entity recoiled, drawing away.  It wasn’t strong enough, he noted in a burst of insight, to withstand it.  It’d been too long since it had fed; it’s energy was weak.  Strong enough to ensnare a young nation-to-be in the dark depths of its domain, of course, but to resist its natural counterpart?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello?” a young voice called out, concerned, “Is someone there?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The sound wrung from Alfred’s throat when the entity’s grip around him became truly constricting couldn’t, in any way, be considered a word.  It was barely audible even as a sound.  But the young voice heard it regardless.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I heard you!  I’m coming.  Are you alright?  Are you hurt?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The young voice - a young man, Alfred could see now - advanced too quickly, and the entity couldn’t retreat fast enough.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He could almost </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>hear</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> the shadows scream as the light beset them, the entity constricting him in its hold before it was forced to let go.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He dropped hard onto the warming forest floor, this time, the moan of pain audible as several vicious bruises were agitated by the collision.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, I’m coming!” the young man holding the lantern called as he raced towards Alfred’s fallen form.  The entity retreated into the darkness, golden eyes staring at him furiously, but dared not come any closer to the light as it grew.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh goodness,” the young man exclaimed, eyes wide and worried coming up to Alfred’s splayed form when he caught sight of the rips and tears in Alfred’s clothes that exposed the vicious bruises, and the clearly broken ankle.  “You’re certainly not alright,” he murmured, and Alfred almost laughed, the hysteria building and making him dizzy.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh he wasn’t alright, by any means of the world.  But oh, he would </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>take it</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Golden eyes followed him as the young man - older than him, but young still - helped him out of the forest and escorted him towards where Washington had made camp.  He felt the presence retreat even further away as the General himself and several of his men came out to meet him - frantic and worried when they’d noticed him missing - and then vanished entirely when he was swallowed by the camp filled with life and light.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It would come for him again, he knew.  But for now, he was safe.  And when it tried again, he would be ready.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he was wrapped in shadows and still in slumber, his life energy draining into the entity and its forest, he sat, caged within the confines of his mind, and he wept.  No one was coming this time.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So...Arthur and Ivan <i>really</i> don't get along.  Trust me, it's only going to get worse from here.<br/>Ah, Matthew, my secret badass.  I'm so sorry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Double Edged Sword</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The one where Mattie’s just - if I stab someone, can this just end? Please?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>People as a whole were used to the spooky feeling that came alongside the approach of Halloween.  The month of October heralded a wealth of spooky vibes, accompanied by centuries of culture around the world that denoted the time of harvest as something special.  People had long since adjusted to the general aura the month brought with it as the year drew closer to its end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But this year, something was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The little wind spirit danced around the neighborhood street it found itself nearby, close enough to the woods where it’s friend, the entity, sheltered to be sent for if needed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It rather doubted the entity would call for it anytime soon, though.  Not the way things were going.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The little spirit was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>worried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had watched eagerly during the long hours of the night before, as its friend had finally begun to devour little </span>
  <em>
    <span>wind-earth-freedom’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>golden brilliance.  It had wondered then, an idle musing, how long the little witchling’s core would sustain its friend.  How long it would take before the entity drained him dry and forced the land to birth a child for its friend to hunt once more.  The early hours of the night had proven fruitful and familiar, as the entity grew stronger and stronger, its obsession and hunger sated at long last.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strong enough to meet the dawn.  Strong enough to walk through the light, shadows darkening as it went.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the entity, for the forest’s darkness, long consigned to the moonlit hours for it’s hunts, it had been intoxicating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the little spirit, it had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>worrying. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Too much, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it had thought, the night before.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like burning-driven earth.  The little witchling is too much. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The night before, it had been a worry.  As the day crested, the worries became fears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The little wind spirit watched the split-seams in the shadows, glowing golden with an untold power, grow and split into cracks.  It watched its friend grow fevered and mad, draining the forest it came from, withering trees and extending shadows that even the humans could see.  It watched the animals flee, frightened.  It watched the witchling sleep, power held steady and never wavering.  Asleep and bound to never wake, but almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>unharmed. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It watched and it worried, and then, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Something must be done. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world was cold when he woke, and Ivan found it unsettling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At home, he would not be surprised to wake to the frigid cold.  Especially not at this time of year.  But Alfred’s homes, much like the young nation himself, were always filled with warmth.  And whenever Alfred would visit Ivan, more often than not, he would find himself waking to the gentle warmth of a summer morning instead of the bitter cold he knew too well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He loved those moments.  Those endless heartbeats when he woke to a gentle warmth seeping into his skin, the softness of wheat-toned hair tucked under his chin, and the scent of flowers and sunshine permeating the air in a way that would linger for weeks after Alfred left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In Alfred’s absence, the cold was foreboding and inescapable.  It chilled bone deep.  It hadn’t even been a day since he’d been taken, but the warmth had fled, leaving something aching and empty in its place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred’s Virginia home had always been a comforting space.  Filled with good memories mixed with exasperating one, but very little bad.  It wasn’t quite like their Alaska cabin, where they could freely be themselves with no concern of watching eyes.  Alaska was remote enough, large enough, in the US that the watching eyes that followed Alfred couldn’t track him.  It was far enough away that Ivan’s own watchers didn’t dare.  Alaska was </span>
  <em>
    <span>theirs </span>
  </em>
  <span>in a way little else was, and so were the memories that came with it.  The good, the bad; devastation and salvation in one space that had no equal.  Alaska was unique for them, and there was nowhere else in the world that could match it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So no, while it was no Alaska, Alfred’s home in Virginia and Ivan’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>dacha </span>
  </em>
  <span>outside St. Petersburg were places they could be </span>
  <em>
    <span>comfortable </span>
  </em>
  <span>with each other, and that was its own gift.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan resented that this god forsaken entity was tainting that now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let his eyes flicker open, taking in the way the sun slanted through the half-drawn curtains, letting the chill seep through to his bones and sighed.  He pushed himself up, letting a frown twist the corner of his lips as he settled against the headboard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone was charging on the nightstand, several messages from his sister and his Embassy to answer.  His bag - which they’d found, miracle of miracles - settled besides the wardrobe, with his coat hanging on the desk chair.  Everything was in place, exactly where he’d left it the night before, and still he felt off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t used the guest room in nearly a century.  Waking here instead of in Alfred’s bedroom, knowing he was in Alfred’s home, was as disconcerting as the lack of warmth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there was nothing to be done.  Matthew may have </span>
  <em>
    <span>suspicions </span>
  </em>
  <span>about their relationship, but certainly no one else did.  And now was definitely not the time to introduce that particular secret to the already volatile mix of nations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking of the British Empire and his siblings had his already poor mood turning sour.  Thinking of the arguments they’d already had - and would likely continue to have until Alfred was returned to them - sent a bitter anger boiling through his veins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Loathe as Ivan was to concede anything to the Black Sheep of Europe, he had to admit that Ivan </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>know magic.  Not the way the Kirkland brothers, or even Matthew might.  France was like Ivan himself, with no magic of his own, as the brothers would call it, but with more magic exposure given his - </span>
  <em>
    <span>tempestuous </span>
  </em>
  <span>relationship with England, and his proximity to the Isles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan had his own gifts, of course.  Every nation did.  But they were not inherently </span>
  <em>
    <span>magical </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the way that Britannia’s sons or the Nordics were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Ivan was still another pair of eyes.  A fresh perspective to have.  And North America was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>Europe of old.  The brothers four should </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that by now.  Magic was </span>
  <em>
    <span>different </span>
  </em>
  <span>here, Alfred himself had told him this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if </span>
  <em>
    <span>magic </span>
  </em>
  <span>was different, then why would the rules stay the same?  No, this was the case when being an expert was narrowing your perspective.  And Ivan worried what that would mean, if the so-called “experts” refused to back down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he and Matthew would end up doing this on their own, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed, eyes sliding shut.  If only he could remember more of that night -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hint of a memory drifted towards him.  Hazy around the edges, Alfred in front of him, but blurry.  Something wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>right - </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“A willing sacrifice is a far greater treasure than otherwise,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>a voice, dark and ancient and </span>
  <em>
    <span>malicious </span>
  </em>
  <span>crooned from his memories, and he almost flinched, jolting up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Was that -? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He remembered only scattered moments of the night before.  Even as he’d awoken, the world had blurred, and only Alfred’s face had been clear.  But if the memories were coming back to him </span>
  <em>
    <span>now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>then perhaps - </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He’s immune, left out of this.  You - any plots on this land, they will never touch him.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred’s voice.  Laughter with the hoarfrost on his neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“We have an accord.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes slipped shut, and he could almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>see - </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A gold eyed creature, made of shadows shaped like the caricature of a man.  Staring at Ivan, deeply satisfied over, Alfred’s shoulder.   An ephemeral arm of shadow wrapping tight around Alfred to pull him back, just as Ivan’s memories spun to black. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He staggered upright, shoving the sheets off of him to stand, and dove for his clothes.  He needed to get dressed.  He needed to clear his thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was something in his memories that was important.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, he just needed to figure out what it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Waking up to a brewing argument he could hear two floors up was never pleasant.  But nevertheless, Matthew resigned himself to his fate as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He peered out of the cocoon he’d made of his brother’s comforter - having taken over Alfred’s room with all the guest rooms filled - and cringed away from the sunlight slanting in through the blinds over the fixed window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The light </span>
  <em>
    <span>burned, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he cursed the world virulently within the confines of his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t dare chance it out loud.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stress from the night before, and the days leading up to it, had finally manifested in the form of almost hangover-like symptoms.  He’d been too on edge the night before to drink anything at dinner - not that the Europeans let that hold them back - so it had to be the stress.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why was it always the stress? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He crept out of his cocoon, staggering upright as he forced himself to adjust to the world swimming around him.  The voices downstairs got louder, and he cringed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was going to have to deal with that at some point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deciding that he didn’t currently have enough fucks to give about what he was wearing, he stumbled towards the stairwell, still in his pajamas, and crept downstairs as quietly as a baby moose in the forest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Francis spotted him hovering over the threshold in the living room, lingering by the stairs, and gestured at him to come into the kitchen.  The kitchen where the argument was taking place, judging by the volume.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew seriously considered - if only briefly - vanishing back up the stairs and shoving a pillow over his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he exchanged commiserating glances with Francis and slunk into the kitchen with all the silent grace he could manage while feeling like the aftermath of a hockey night and one too many pints.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fleeting thought came to him, like the spark of ground lightning and just as insidious, that if Alfred was here, he’d have sent everyone to the den to have their fights.  The kitchen was Alfred’s territory and like hell did he allow the kind of furious shouting and all but actual physical assault happening in front of him right now.  Either that or he’d whack both troublemakers with his wooden spoon and banish them from the house until they calmed down and the - </span>
  <em>
    <span>we do </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>not </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>throw kitchen knives in my house Arthur Kirkland! </span>
  </em>
  <span>- wore out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>American Thanksgiving with his little brother was nothing if not </span>
  <em>
    <span>eventful.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Aaand </span>
  </em>
  <span>now he was upset again.  Wonderful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slunk into his barstool next to the island counter with </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling. </span>
  </em>
  <span> Francis patted his hand with a sympathetic smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He desperately tried not to look over to the breakfast nook.  Maybe if he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>see </span>
  </em>
  <span>the shitshow it wouldn’t be as bad -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voices, impossibly as it felt, got </span>
  <em>
    <span>louder. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ - the priority needs to be figuring out what the blasted thing </span>
  <em>
    <span>is, </span>
  </em>
  <span>before we go and kill it!” Arthur snarled, voice piercing.  “Not catering to your redundant questions.  If none of us could figure out what the damned thing is, how on God’s green earth are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>supposed to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew wanted to shove his face into the nice-looking batch of crepes Francis had stealthily slipped in front of him in the bitter, ongoing war against his beloved pancakes.  Why, for the love of god, were they already at each other’s throats?  Francis offered him a sympathetic grimace and then shoved a fork in his fist before he could act on the growing impulse to punch something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Forget that I’m the only one who’s actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>the damned thing,” Ivan growled, and damn, he hadn’t heard that tone since Afghanistan, “the more minds and perspectives on the situation, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>better.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>You’re not as familiar with North American magic and folklore.  I’m not familiar with it either.  Will you at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>try </span>
  </em>
  <span>to acknowledge that you might not know everything so we can move on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew whimpered, “How long have they been at this?” he turned wide eyes on Francis, who only looked at him apologetically, a hint of a grimace on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really don’t want to know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mon chou.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, he really didn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But maybe if they got any closer to coming to blows, Alfred would come back from whatever the shadow entity had done to him just to throw their asses out of his kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If that was the case, then maybe Matthew should </span>
  <em>
    <span>let </span>
  </em>
  <span>them argue it out….</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then, when they got his brother back - that they would was already a foregone conclusion and Matthew refused to acknowledge otherwise, he could be as stubborn as his brother - Alfred would give him that pouting, teary-eyed </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>and ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mattie why’d you let them -? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Matthew was so very bad at refusing his little brother anything with that face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God damn his weakness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God damn mornings.  God damn irritating </span>
  <em>
    <span>Europeans. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew’s fingers twitched around the fork in his hand and he had the awareness to acknowledge that there was a reason Francis hadn’t given him a knife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God damn it, Matthew was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a morning person.  Was there a reason he was being given all these trials before noon?  Before </span>
  <em>
    <span>coffee? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You haven’t even let me describe the thing,” Ivan grouched, irritated, and Arthur scoffed.  Matthew felt like dropping his head into his hands and then retreating to the soundproof basement for the rest of the day.  There was no way this was ending well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What it looks like doesn’t matter,” the former Empire snapped, “It’s basic magical knowledge that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t know - anything powerful enough to enchant a nation and steal them away would be powerful enough to change its appearance.  It could’ve fooled you easily enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dismissal in Arthur’s voice - another validation of the high-handed Empire’s implacable view that Ivan was deadweight and useless in this situation - was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dripping </span>
  </em>
  <span>with condescension.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew wanted to go back to bed now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He also wanted to stab </span>
  <strike>
    <span>someone</span>
  </strike>
  <span> something.  These were not two things he should be conflicted about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It let me keep my memories of the damn exchange,” Ivan almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>snarled, </span>
  </em>
  <span>“We should be using this information to our </span>
  <em>
    <span>advantage - </span>
  </em>
  <span>we can’t keep letting this golden-eyed creep stay one step ahead of us,” Ivan slammed his hands down against the table, leveraging himself to get in Arthur’s face and Matthew -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew paused, eyes going distant, as he wondered -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Golden eyes? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fork slipped from slack fingers and hit the plate with a loud clatter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He rubbed at his face with sleepy little fists, blinking up at the dark haired, dark-eyed woman who watched him warmly.  A hand carded gently through his hair as he roused from his nap, and as his awareness - young though it may be - sharpened, he could sense the hint of worry in the woman’s expression.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mama?” he murmured, in a language lost to memory and time, “What’s wrong?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His mother’s lips twitched, amused and approving as she always was about his perceptiveness.  Someone had to be perceptive, he knew.  His newest brother tended towards obliviousness with an aplomb he wouldn’t recognize as deliberate until they’d fought a war against each other centuries later.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“My little bear,” she murmured to him softly as he cuddled closer to her.  Her visits were growing increasingly rare, and he wouldn’t let the time slip away.  “Will you listen to a story with me?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He sat up, eyes wide.  Stories were </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>important. </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> They told of what is, and what might be.  They were dangerous, too.  Stories informed, but they created too.  Mother wouldn’t dare risk telling him one if she didn’t need to.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Her smile was tinged with a sadness he didn’t see then, when he agreed.  He wouldn’t know why until much later.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wouldn’t know why until it was almost too late.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Then cuddle close, my little one,” she told him, smiling as he snuggled into her, bright sunset eyes alight with curiosity, “and let me tell you of the story of a golden-eyed shadow that sought the sun.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mathieu?” a familiar warm voice called, and he blinked back into reality staring into concerned ocean blues.  “Are you alright, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mon chou? </span>
  </em>
  <span> You seemed to disappear for a moment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stared at his </span>
  <em>
    <span>père </span>
  </em>
  <span>for a single heartbeat, turning to catch the worried glances of the rest of the family, and the furrowed brows on his Russian neighbor.  He breathed in, long and deep, before exhaling slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ivan,” he said, turning to meet violet eyes, “did you say the creature had </span>
  <em>
    <span>golden eyes?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” the former superpower said, brows furrowing even tighter.  Matthew hadn’t known that was possible, but he supposed the situation allowed for all kinds of odd things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And it was made of shadows,” he clarified, feeling his heart begin to race, his mother’s old description coming to mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan’s eyes sharpened, and instead of answering, he said, “You know what it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“-a golden-eyed shadow that sought the sun,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>his mother’s voice whispered to him, centuries old, cautious and grieving as the tale wove itself together in his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred.  Their mother’s little bonfire.  A brilliant little sun, like all those who’d come before him that never-would-be again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew had been the heart of a Northern winter, and the sunset sky was his.  Maria grounded in the desert storm and earth embodied in her amber eyes.  Tex was their fluidity, with tempestuous waters of his own to claim.  Carlos their anchor, even off the mainland as he was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Alfred and all those who’d come before him...they’d always taken the sun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” he breathed, half hoping it didn’t come out as grieving and heartbroken as it sounded in his mind, the pieces of a jagged puzzle fitting together and unravelling a centuries old hunt, “yes, I think I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But </span>
  <em>
    <span>god, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he almost wished he didn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to tell you a story,” he heard himself say, thinking of dark and mournful eyes, the agony of a loss he’d been almost too young to remember.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let the grief and the rage sit on his tongue.  Let the agony swirl in his blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s about a golden-eyed shadow that sought the sun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew’s horrifying realization - and the story that followed - took up most of the late morning, and the questions the brothers pestered him with followed them into the early afternoon.  The Kirkland brothers - including a disgruntled Rhys and a mutinous Arthur, who’d been the hardest to convince of the creature’s nature (although Matthew mostly thought it was because they both had to admit they were clearly in the wrong) - had settled down for tea around the dining room, leaving the tense atmosphere of the breakfast nook behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, well.  They attempted to, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were, rather abruptly, interrupted as the window cracked open to admit a peculiar visitor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A </span>
  <em>
    <span>familiar </span>
  </em>
  <span>visitor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of clattering cutlery and chairs screeching against the hardwood floor echoed in the dining room.  Magic sizzled and burned as it manifested into being at the hands of the four Kirkland brothers, Francis watching with sharp eyes, and Ivan with one hand on his pipe, curled tight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew, on the other hand, had frozen still as the wind wrapped around him tight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You are the little blizzard, child of the north,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the wind spirit whispered, dancing around Matthew in dizzying circles and tugging at his clothes. </span>
  <em>
    <span> “There is news to be brought forth.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“News?” Matthew croaked, before realization dawned and fury stole away the fear, “You’re the one that took the wind from my brother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spirit seemed to waver, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I am the wind and the wind is me,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>it protested softly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“But the little witchling’s wind is wild and free.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’re ye on about?” Alistair barked, eyes darting around as they caught on the barely visible distortions in the air - like a heat mirage - that told him where the little wind spirit could be found, “What news would you bring us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The little witchling sleeps under the ink dark night,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the wind whispered to them cautiously, and everyone stilled, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Only a lover’s kiss can break the spell of darkness into light.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew glared into the air, “And why should we trust you,” he demanded, “when you stole my brother and the endless siblings who came before him to be devoured?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wind rustled uneasily, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“The forest grows in power and loses cunning, worries come to be found,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> it asserted, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“The land is too strong and powerful to be so unnaturally bound.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhys’s eyes widened as the implication rang through his mind, “Alfred is too powerful for the entity to devour,” he breathed, ignoring the sudden hitch of breath from his companions, “That’s why it never went after his mother.  Why it only went after the young, developing nations.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Obsession cuts like a fire warmed knife,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> it agreed mournfully, like the death knell that it was, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“so the witchling sleeps, and the forest dies.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There’s a difference between the wind itself, and one of the wind spirits the entity in the forest used to draw humans (and Alfred) to it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. To Hunt the One that Hunts the Sun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A major thanks to Usagi323 for helping me and being my sounding board and inspiration for this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The morning dawned quiet.  Blissfully quiet.  And without the god forsaken stress-hangover that had plagued him all day yesterday.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which, honestly, was something of a miracle considering how they’d ended the night before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, Matthew had long since learned to appreciate a good miracle, whenever they decided to occur.  So he’d taken the blessed luck of the morning and made his way downstairs, meeting Francis and Rhys - who’d already been awake and about in the kitchen, prepping breakfast for everyone.  He got a nod of acknowledgement from Ivan, who’d been taking a call on the back deck, as he slipped in to appropriate the kitchenware for everyone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time he’d set up the table, the Kirkland clan was spilling in, Ivan slipping in silently from the backyard right behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which led them to where they were now, sprawled all over the basement’s entertainment space, curled on couches and armchairs, with the remains of breakfast tucked away on a counter somewhere as they debated the wind spirit’s impromptu visit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur had already lost what little patience he’d had, contemplating the nuggets of information they’d been given.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A lover’s kiss,” the former Empire scoffed, and threw his hands up, frustrated, “How singularly </span>
  <em>
    <span>unhelpful </span>
  </em>
  <span>and stereotypical.  We’ll have to find a way around breaking that particular enchantment when we get to him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew coughed, going red abruptly, and winced when everyone turned to him at the curious reaction.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought.  Especially when Ivan turned to him, a hint of realization and humored contemplation in his gaze.  The former superpower dipped his head - only the slightest hint of movement - while the line of his shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug and Matthew felt his shoulders sag in relief.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Permission granted.  If need be, at least. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “maybe we - um, we could use Ivan?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a long moment, they all just </span>
  <em>
    <span>stared </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Matthew,” Arthur began, words slow and deliberate, “tell me, in what </span>
  <em>
    <span>realm </span>
  </em>
  <span>could we consider using Ivan for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>lover’s kiss?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” he said, laughing nervously, “Al did have a crush on him as a kid, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan raised a brow, likely as not having been aware of that particular fact, just as Arthur scoffed and Reilley sniggered.  Rhys rolled his eyes at their antics.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alistair snorted, “Boyo, with that logic, we could get Gilbert to hop on a plane and play the lover.  Pretty damn sure Al had a crush on him as a kid.”  One that, from what Mattie remembered of his brother’s ramblings, had gotten rather thoroughly squashed in favor of the mentor-student bond that had developed over the course of America’s Revolution.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could, yes,” Ivan interjected, voice quiet, but when Matthew looked over, there was a dawning realization in his eyes, “but I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>immune.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew’s breath caught.  The air went still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Immune?” he croaked, throat abruptly dry, and Ivan’s eyes almost glowed with </span>
  <em>
    <span>triumph. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When it made the bargain,” Ivan said, accent thickening as his eyes gleamed, “Alfred made the condition that I would be immune.  That it couldn’t use me again, that nothing on his lands </span>
  <em>
    <span>could - </span>
  </em>
  <span>and especially, not against </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence in that moment </span>
  <em>
    <span>echoed.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>And then Arthur snapped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why the bloody hell didn’t you mention this </span>
  <em>
    <span>sooner?!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he growled, and Matthew felt a frown tug at his lips as Ivan turned to Arthur with a dark look on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because,” Ivan drawled, dark and frigid, “when I </span>
  <em>
    <span>tried </span>
  </em>
  <span>to mention the memories I’d recovered from that particular event - yesterday at breakfast, in fact - you attempted to tell me they had no importance in our quest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Arthur said nastily, flushing in a mix of embarrassment and outrage, “that was before you shared any </span>
  <em>
    <span>relevant </span>
  </em>
  <span>information.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Okay.  That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullshit. </span>
  </em>
  <span> How the hell was Ivan supposed to magically divine what was valuable information or not in this kind of situation?  But just as he was about to say as much to Arthur, something clicked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The wind spirit,” Matthew breathed, “it said a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lover’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>kiss.  Not just someone who loved Alfred.  If it was that, any of us could’ve gone.  But it was talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>immune.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was - that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge. </span>
  </em>
  <span> He felt dizzy with how delighted he was.  This was their </span>
  <em>
    <span>ace.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>This was their winning play.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan was Alfred’s lover.  Ivan could break the poisoned sleep.  Ivan was </span>
  <em>
    <span>immune. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But in Matthew’s delight, he’d forgotten their audience.  Something that dragged him back to Earth, abruptly, as Rhys stepped forwards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why call him the </span>
  <em>
    <span>lover, </span>
  </em>
  <span>then?” the Welshman interjected, eyes calculating, and Matthew felt his heart sink as he realized there was a glint of </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing </span>
  </em>
  <span>in those hazel eyes.  “A one time crush does not a lover make, Matthew.”  There was a calculated pause, as hazel eyes fastened onto Ivan with an intensity that reminded Matthew that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>nation had held off Rome for centuries, while his brothers were too young and his mother too frail to aid him.  “Unless, of course,” hazel eyes gleamed, “we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>missing </span>
  </em>
  <span>something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Matthew saw the exact moment all the puzzle pieces they’d been throwing around finally clicked into place for Arthur.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan saw it too, clearly, as he’d straightened, polite smile turning sharp and stubborn and utterly immovable.  There was a gleam of delight in violet eyes - something so akin to Alfred’s shit-eating grin that it made Matthew want to groan - and sometimes </span>
  <em>
    <span>(so many times) </span>
  </em>
  <span>Matthew had wondered how two people so different could be drawn to each other, but in moments like these - well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moments like these, he mused, proved that the unstoppable force and the immovable object were really two of a kind, weren’t they?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Magic thickened in the air, hanging like an invisible fog as Arthur’s verdant eyes </span>
  <em>
    <span>burned </span>
  </em>
  <span>vicious and venomous, turning towards the target of his ire even as the weight of the magic sent his middle brothers sprawling.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhys steadied himself against the wall, eyes going cold and icy as he barked out a furious, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Albion,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>that went ignored by the nation in question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Arthur snarled, even as Ivan straightened and lifted a mocking brow, as if to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>what about me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You blasted </span>
  <em>
    <span>son of a -,” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then the increasingly terrifying standoff </span>
  <em>
    <span>froze, </span>
  </em>
  <span>a chill sliding down everyone’s spine, as Francis stepped in between the two nations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enough, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Angleterre,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Francis snapped, voice clipped and nothing short of a command that had everyone’s spine straightening subconsciously.  Matthew had rarely heard that tone from his </span>
  <em>
    <span>papa, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but the rare occasions he had had been - </span>
  <em>
    <span>memorable, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to say the least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as Napoleon had been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Frog -,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Arthur’s voice was nothing short of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hiss, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the sibilant sound of chains dragging against stone and waves sluicing across bloodied rocks; ancient and terrifying and </span>
  <em>
    <span>weighted </span>
  </em>
  <span>with old magic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Francis was not amused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Answer me honestly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Angleterre,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he said, “Are you furious because of Alfred’s choice of partner?  Or are you furious because you’re the last one to know?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The suffocating weight of the magic vanished abruptly, and Arthur spluttered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>last </span>
  </em>
  <span>one to know?” he barked, livid, but this was a familiar fury, and Matthew could feel his breathing ease.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>cher,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Francis drawled, all suave Parisian charm, “I’ve known for nearly a half-century now, I believe.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cher Prussie </span>
  </em>
  <span>has never been good at holding in the things that bothered him when faced with good quality beer.  And I do believe the way he </span>
  <em>
    <span>discovered </span>
  </em>
  <span>their relationship was - </span>
  <em>
    <span>interesting, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to say the least.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To be fair,” Ivan interjected breezily, to a renewed black aura rapidly growing around Arthur, “I didn’t realize at the time how efficient Prussia was at seeing through </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fedya’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>disguises.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The affectionate nickname nearly sent Arthur spiraling once more, but Francis offered up a Gallic shrug, an amused smile curling on his lips as he continued, “And I’m sure </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mathieu </span>
  </em>
  <span>has had some inkling of their relationship for some time now, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew cleared his throat as all eyes - Ivan’s curious ones included - turned to him, and he shrugged.  “Since Alaska,” he said, and with the furrowed brows and blank stares on all but Ivan’s startled expression, he knew no one really knew what that meant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Good.  Alaska was a minefield of its own, and one he didn’t want to touch with a vaulting pole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My brother’s love life is none of our concern,” Matthew said, easily bringing the attention back to him, taking over from Francis, “He’s an adult who can do what he wants with his personal life - and that includes dating whomever he wants, regardless of whether or not we approve,” he shot a pointed look at Arthur and Alistair’s stormy expressions, “and the only way it’s relevant </span>
  <em>
    <span>now </span>
  </em>
  <span>is because we can use it to save him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cleared his throat, “Speaking of which,” he leveled them all with a pointed glare, “we need to be planning instead of arguing right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur offered them a look that promised the issue was far from dealt with, but allowed the subject to change.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” the Englishman huffed, “does anyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>a plan?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, for one,” Reilley chimed in, hesitant, having stayed out of the majority of the fighting, “we don’t need any more in fighting.  The division within us as a group will only help the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s got the boyo.”  Then, he blinked, like realization dawning in clover green eyes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he breathed, “we need </span>
  <em>
    <span>teams.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur’s eyes brightened, in genuine delight rather than anger, “Oh,” he said, “I think I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>what you mean -,” he grinned, exchanging twin looks of mischievousness with the next youngest of the Kirkland Four that had Alistair groaning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no,” the Scotsman groaned, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’re not seriously talking about that old strategy you two used on me as ankle biters after sweets, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Butter wouldn't melt in their mouths with the look they gave him.  Matthew had to blink, startled, at the expression he’d never seen on the Empire’s face.  Ivan did a double take.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“While rudimentary in their use of it,” Rhys deadpanned, a glint of amusement growing in hazel eyes, “it is, nonetheless, a tried and true tactic.  And it worked, did it not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alistair growled, “You say that because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>not the one who got </span>
  <em>
    <span>bruised shins </span>
  </em>
  <span>every time they wanted a biscuit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, as the only one of working age, I was providing for us - ,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew felt his eyebrows shoot up as the brothers devolved into standard sibling bickering.  While he could appreciate the less tension in this particular change of pace, they really did need to focus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cleared his throat, drawing attention to him once again.  He arched a brow, “Shouldn’t we start planning?” he asked, watching, fascinated and amused as the Kirkland clan flushed.  Francis bit back a smile, and Ivan didn’t bother hiding his smirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur cleared his throat, shifting a bit as the pink faded from his face, “Right,” he said gruffly, “well, our strategy wasn’t too complicated.  Reilley would go in and distract Alistair, since he was usually the dramatic one.  I was the fastest, and I’ve got quick hands, so I would grab the biscuits when he was distracted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll need two teams, at least, distraction and rescue,” Francis mused, before Ivan interrupted him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nyet,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he disagreed, “we need </span>
  <em>
    <span>three.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>One for distraction, one for misdirection, and the last as the </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>rescue team.  It will give us more chances of success, and distract the entity further.  The more it’s awareness is stretched, the less chance of running into </span>
  <em>
    <span>problems.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The general agreement to that sealed the deal, and Matthew turned his mind to strategy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arthur, you’re the most magically powerful,” Matthew considered, eyes distant and contemplative, “You need to be on the distraction team, probably with Alistair and Rhys.  Keep it occupied.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur’s brows furrowed, opening his mouth to disagree, but Matthew steamrolled right over him, strategies whirling across his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Reilley, you’ve got luck on your side,” he noted, getting a nod of acknowledgement from the Irishman, “You and </span>
  <em>
    <span>papa </span>
  </em>
  <span>need to be the misdirection team.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Père’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>lack of magical signature will sell the argument if it senses you.  And while you and </span>
  <em>
    <span>papa </span>
  </em>
  <span>play bait, the others play distraction, Ivan and I will go in together as rescue.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Excuse me?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew blinked out of his thoughts and caught sight of Arthur staring at him, ready to disagree.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the only way it’s going to work,” he said, indigo eyes firm and uncompromising, “Magically, I can hide my signature, and I’m the best bet for finding Alfred hidden on his own land.  Ivan has no magical signature, so he’ll be unnoticed, especially if this </span>
  <em>
    <span>entity</span>
  </em>
  <span> has a distraction to deal with.”  He paused, before strengthening his resolve and adding, “Besides, Ivan’s the only one who can wake Alfred up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused at that, making sure to turn his gaze around the room, one eyebrow raised, “Anyone else have any issues with that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only grumbling was his response.  That was good enough for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll have to wait for dawn, then,” Rhys mused, contemplative, “In our understanding, dawn and dusk are boundaries.  And it seems that this is one thing our magics have in common.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew blinked, “What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhys hummed, before gesturing to Ivan, “This entity,” he elaborated, “it took Ivan at dawn, and then appeared at dusk to bargain with Alfred.  The moments where its darkness can interact with the light, for a brief window of time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew stared,“That’s...not long,” he breathed.  “Would we be able to work during the day as well?  Are we on a time limit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhys hummed, eyes going distant and contemplative, “I don’t believe so,” he said, “We shouldn’t risk going too much earlier than dawn, or we’d be in its power completely, and if what the wind spirit said was correct, it’s overpowered enough to daywalk, but it’ll tax it.”  Rhys frowned, tapping a finger to his lips, “We should do it soon, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Francis frowned, leaning forwards, “Is there any particular reason, besides the obvious?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhys grimaced, “We still don’t know much about how the entity sustains itself, other than that it’s feeding on Alfred’s life energy.  From what’s been said, Alfred is too </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong </span>
  </em>
  <span>for it, he has too much energy.  If that’s the case, then sooner or later might not make a difference.  But there </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a possibility that,” he shuddered lightly, “Alfred </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>have a finite amount of energy.  And we do not know how soon the entity can burn through it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air around them went cold.  Matthew swallowed down the bubbling memory of soul-deep agony and forced himself to focus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, tomorrow, then,” he said, blithely, and nodded to himself.  “We’re going to make reasonable teammates out of all of you,” he muttered darkly, eyes gleaming ominously in a way that made all the other nations take a quick step away, “Or I’m going to kill you trying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er, laddie,” Alistair said hesitantly, “don’t you mean ‘die trying’?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know what I said,” he said, tone pleasantly calm, and the others took </span>
  <em>
    <span>another </span>
  </em>
  <span>step away.  All except Ivan, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew wasn’t sure how to take the fact that Ivan looked more entertained than threatened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” he said, mostly to himself this time, “prep time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll need to figure out distraction - Albion, yer good at water disasters, what -,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll need to be fast to outpace Mattie boy -,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Water disasters in a forest, Alys, fer fuck’s sake -,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew was amazed at how quickly everyone started pairing off, coming together and figuring things out.  It was a marvel, he thought.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I need to snap more often? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hmm, but that meant more stress.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tricky. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And in the flurry of voices, Matthew heard Francis sigh, “Ah, Alfred,” he heard the other say, a soft amusement thick in his tone, “you would enjoy this chaos very much, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mon chou.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew swallowed, thinking about the flurry of rapid planning and strategy that Alfred so excelled at.  Francis was right, Alfred would’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>this chaos.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would love it even more when Matthew told him about it, once they got him back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dreams and memories that came were not always vicious.  Once the entity had run dry of all the memories Alfred had of it - of the terror it inspired in him - it turned its attention away and allowed Alfred’s mind to wander.  Trapped in his mind, there was nothing he could do.  No way to call for help.  Nothing but a bone-deep yearning to get away.  To be safe once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deep in the poisoned sleep, Alfred dreamt of Alaska.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Midsummer was upon them, the sun high in the sky, and yet the wind still chilled him bone deep.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He couldn’t stay at home.  He couldn’t linger in DC, where nations came to pay grief and lip service to mourning a leader taken from him too soon.  Where his people, reunited in word alone, congregated to try and fix something still so fundamentally broken.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Where the darkness lurked in the forests around his heart, hiding just outside his line of sight.  Where he was weak, and tired, and vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been since he’d come into nationhood.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He hadn’t seen the golden-eyed entity since it had nearly taken him during his Revolution.  Since it had nearly ended the war for Arthur, and stolen him away to a fate he never would’ve woken from.  With no new nations to feed from, growing weaker the longer it went without, the entity had been forced to hibernate.  Decades had gone by as the entity slept, and Alfred had learned to walk the forests’ darkness without fear as it did so.  But that didn’t mean he didn’t recognize the signs of it waking once more, to follow him.  To stalk him.  To steal him away at his weakest.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He could’ve gone South, he knew.  He could’ve slipped through his southern border and his sister would’ve sheltered him in the heart of her deserts, or within the city-lake above her heart.  The deserts were too warm and arid, too barren of the life the entity had been born from for it to dare crossing the sands.  The Southwest, and the lands beyond the Rio Grande would always be safe as a result.  </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>He </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>would be safe there, until it fell into sleep once more.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But, he thought with an aching heart pulsing alongside the rippling pain that tore across the scar wrapped around his waist, he didn’t think he could venture into the South right now.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The True North was safe for similar reasons.  Where the South’s deterrent was the desert, the North’s was the frigid arctic sprawl that stretched across his brother’s lands, his boreal forests and the chill that prevented all but those who knew how to survive in the region from living there. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No.  The entity, the shadow of the forest’s darkness, the sun eater who’d stolen so many siblings-that-were to be devoured would not trespass or seek out his Northern brother, or Southern siblings.  And even for all the threat that it was to him, to his children-who-might-be, Alfred could only be grateful for that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His brother, had he but known, would’ve folded him into his arms and hidden him away from England himself, if need be.  Kept him safe and sound where the world would not find him, and safer still from the darkness that stalked Alfred through time.  But his brother had his own troubles brewing, and didn’t know of the entity that stalked him as anything more than one of their mother’s warning stories.  His brother could not help him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But the North was safe still.  And there was no wound tainting its memory.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That was why he was here, deep within the Alaskan wilderness, in a cabin built by familiar hands and filled with memories of safety.  Of joy.  Of a love-that-might-be, if only in his heart.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As he nestled deep into the rocking chair on the porch, eyes sliding shut as he let the brisk wind dance around him comfortingly, he sunk into those feelings.  That joy.  That love.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps it would chase the dark thoughts away….</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You are thinking deep thoughts, Fedya,” a voice broke through his contemplations and he whirled around, face lighting up the moment he realized who had spoken.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ivan!” he shouted, delighted beyond measure, already moving to throw himself at the other man for a hug when his newest scar abruptly made itself known half-way there.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>For a long second, he just stood there.  Eyes squeezed shut as the pain spiked and simmered like the cauldron of emotions and chaos that still frothed within his people.  Fists clenched in the rough fabric of his trousers.  For a long moment, he couldn’t breathe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then, there was a hand settling on his shoulder - a balm and distraction from the pain - and one brushing his fringe from his face in an impossibly gentle caress.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Breathe, Fedya,” the soft voice murmured, and he did.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Alfred blinked back into the daylight, and stared at his concerned friend in front of him.  “Thank you,” he said, the words emerging slowly, and then he smiled.  “You always know what to say.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ivan smiled at him, sad and full of remembrance, “Of course, Fedya.  I am not a stranger to the heart-wounds of a nation.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“But your words are the only ones that don’t sound condescending,” he blurted, mind lingering on the nations that had paid him a visit in the early weeks after the war’s end and Lincoln’s assassination.  When he’d been fragile, hurting, with fresh wounds and no tolerance for pretty words without meaning.  “They don’t feel </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>fake, </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>the way the others’ do.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ivan’s smile twitched into a frown, eyes darkening, “I suppose, then, that my European brethren have long forgotten the value of sincerity.”  His eyes went distant for a second, as the hand on his shoulder became an arm, settling Alfred into a half-hug pressed to Ivan’s side.  Alfred curled into him easily, relishing the comfort his friend wore around him like a cloak.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><em><span>“They would’ve helped tear me apart, and watched gleefully all the while,” Alfred murmured, thinking of England and France, who’d considered entering his Civil War on the Confederacy’s side.  Thought of the gift</span></em> <em><span>of warships and goods England had so </span></em><b><em>thoughtfully </em></b><em><span>sent onwards to support the conflict that was tearing his own son apart.  Of word that had come, through Matthew, at one of Alfred’s lowest moments, of Arthur’s vicious </span></em><b><em>satisfaction </em></b><em><span>at the event itself.  As if it was a justified pain - something America had </span></em><b><em>deserved. </em></b></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ivan’s arm tightened around his shoulders, and Alfred lifted his head to glance at his companion’s dark expression.  “Ivan?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“They will regret it verily, one day,” Ivan murmured, soft and darkly promising, “They will regret watching you go to pieces, regret coming with pretty words and fake smiles.  They have forgotten that you are not of Europe.”  Another pause, and this time, Ivan’s voice was impossibly darker, “They have forgotten that you are not </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>for </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Europe.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Not for them to use, or abuse.  To play with, like a pawn in their little games.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was not the first time Ivan had said this to him, not by a long shot.  In fact, he was sure Ivan had been saying it to him since his first trip to Russia, to meet Catherine the Great and the silver-haired shadow that walked at her side.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Neither are you, you know,” he breathed back, his smile knife sharp and lovely, “You may be of Europe, but you’re not like </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>them.  </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t dance to their tune.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ivan’s first glance over to him was darkly amused.  But that was only if you didn’t see warmth in his eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Alfred certainly did.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Perhaps, one day,” Ivan mused, “we would make our own tune for the world.  And no one could tell us otherwise.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Alfred laughed, delighted just at the thought.  Of the two most unlikely nations to dictate the world - of little America who was just coming free of his first Civil War, so close to his inception that people wondered if he would even survive it.  And of the Russian Empire, so vast and diverse, but so frigid and rigid, and lacking in any European eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of Alfred and Ivan, who’d always been outcasts at the far ends of the world.  Who’d found refuge in each other when the world became too much.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What a dream, he thought.  What a marvelous dream.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Perhaps,” he mused, rolling the taste of that beautiful dream like warm chocolate on his tongue as he shifted to rest his head on Ivan’s welcoming shoulder.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They stood that way for a long while, basking in the warmth of the Alaskan sun and a marvelous, unfathomable dream.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What are you doing in Alaska, by the way?” he remembered to ask later that evening, the sun still high in the sky.  They’d both retired to the back deck for dinner by then.  “I would’ve stocked the cabin for two if I’d known you were coming.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ivan chuckled, eyes gentle and a smile so incredibly </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>fond </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>that it almost took his breath away, “I had a feeling you would be here.  I wanted to come check on you, make sure you were recovering alright.”  He paused for a moment, hesitant, and then said, “I know you’re capable of recovering on your own, but sometimes it helps to have someone there.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Alfred blinked, vision going suspiciously blurry, “Ivan,” he said, something heartbreaking in his voice, and then Ivan was there.  He was there, wrapping him in a hug like he had the right, laying an arm gently around the seam of a scar that wrapped around his waist like Ivan was the only thing holding him together, and Alfred felt, Alfred </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>felt </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A sob hitched in his throat, and this time he couldn’t stop the tears tracing their way down his cheeks as he buried his face in Ivan’s coat.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You stood guard at the gates,” he choked out, what felt like an endless eternity later, “You watched over me while I tore myself apart.  If there’s anyone I’d have with me here, now, it would be you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I will always be there, if you will have me,” Ivan muttered softly, almost barely audible like the wind sighing in his ear, his hold gentle and protective and Alfred </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>knew </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>that this was important.  This wasn’t just friendship - this was so much more that Ivan was promising him.  A hand cupped his face, a gloved thumb brushing away tears as he tilted his head to look the other in the eye.  “As Russia, I will be here, as your friend and ally, as long as our people allow us,” the pause then is heavy.  Weighted.  “As Ivan,” he continued, “I will be here.  As whatever you would like us to be, for forever, if you desire it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I thought our kind couldn’t have forever,” Alfred croaked, staring at the other in disbelief.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ivan offered him a mischievous smile that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Alfred’s own face, and said, “Ah, but darling, we can always try.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Standing there, underneath the evening sun, a kiss on his lips and a secret locked away in his heart, wrapped in the arms of a man who’d tear the world apart for him - as if Alfred wouldn’t do the same - Alaska had never felt safer.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The house felt different at night, without Alfred.  It was dark with the lights off, only illuminated by whatever moonlight made it through the considerable number of windows.  Half the curtains were drawn, a precaution the Kirkland brothers had insisted upon given their reluctance to open up to the entity’s insidious influence.  Ivan had disagreed, but hadn’t said anything.  In his opinion, the entity had gotten what it had come for - what importance did they have, when it had Alfred?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he did not protest their paranoia - and who knew, it could be a good thing - and didn’t bother disturbing the drawn curtains as he walked about the house now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slipped into the open-concept living space they’d taken to occupying in the two days they’d been here.  The basement had served as their planning and strategizing space - less chance of being overheard with less window access - but the living room was undoubtedly the most comfortable space in the house, and so there was where they’d lingered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was not, however, Ivan’s destination.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No.  Ivan made for the back deck, instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Disarming the alarm system from his phone with habitual ease, he traced the outside of the bloody mark that Alfred had left behind him staining the wood.  The warding mark that protected everyone inside the house.  Ivan stared at it, for a long moment, and then pushed open the doors and stepped outside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan was immune, after all.  A gift from his lover that went beyond a bloody ward.  It lay within his very self.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slid the door closed behind him and moved to the very end of the deck.  He didn’t go any further, immune or not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He just - lingered.  Stared.  At the forest that had taken his lover from him.  That had used </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>to take advantage of Alfred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fedya, why did you do it?  Why did you trade yourself for me?  There could have been another way.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to have been another way.  He refused to believe the only way would’ve been sacrificing either one of them.  And god, but he knew his </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fedya </span>
  </em>
  <span>loved him.  He knew it, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did. </span>
  </em>
  <span> His </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fedya </span>
  </em>
  <span>would rip the world apart for Ivan, just as Ivan would do the same for him.  But he now knew the consequences of what would happen should Alfred fade in the entity’s hands.  What would befall the land itself, and all the people Alfred claimed as his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why Fedya?  Why put me above your own people?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced down to his pocket, where his little treasure rested, and then pulled it out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d found Alfred’s phone the moment they’d gotten inside that first night, squirreling it away in his pocket to look at later once they’d figured out what had happened and what they could do about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And once he’d retreated to the guest room - </span>
  <em>
    <span>not their room </span>
  </em>
  <span>- he’d done just that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The phone unlocked for him easily enough, and he’d almost flinched when he realized what Alfred had been looking at right before the entity had taken him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he’d walked out of his own home and traded himself for Ivan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ivan had asked himself, desperate for an answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The phone had told him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Picture after picture after picture, of Alfred and Ivan, of Ivan and Alfred, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>America and Russia </span>
  </em>
  <span>in all the corners of the globe and all the most precious places in their hearts.  Alaska, Virginia, NASA, St. Petersburg, Crimea, the Winter Palace - and so many others.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Picture after picture after picture of their love </span>
  <em>
    <span>radiating </span>
  </em>
  <span>to any innocuous passerby who might happen to glimpse them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Picture after picture after picture, showing how they adored each other in so many little ways.  How they didn’t know how to be someone not completely in love with the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan’s fingers closed tightly around the treasure in his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was answer enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no distinction for Alfred.  He did not love Ivan more than his people.  He didn’t love him less, either.  He simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and that was enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More than enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan stared out at the forest that had stolen his heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I will take him back from you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he vowed silently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The forest didn’t respond.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed, allowing the intensity of his thoughts to gentle.  It was only when he turned to head back inside that he spotted an odd sight, and he blinked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A familiar Russian blue had been sitting, curled up next to the double doors leading back into the house, and staring out at the woods forlornly.  Likely, it could’ve been there long as Ivan had been, since he certainly hadn’t seen it before he’d stepped out onto the deck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Upon seeing Ivan, the cat had uncurled from it’s vigil and moved over to the startled nation, winding around him in a familiar gesture of welcome, before he sat down in front of him and meowed insistently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, hello Blini,” Ivan cooed, crouching down to offer some pets to the watchful cat.  “You’ve returned from your adventure then?”  He remembered, a few days before this had all begun, Alfred had called him, utterly baffled, and said that Blini had taken off on one of his rare adventures that morning.  And to not be surprised if the Russian Blue ended up on his doorstep one day.  Again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They still haven’t figured out how Blini had learned to travel internationally.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blini paced around him, agitated, and Ivan watched, slightly baffled as the cat seemed to look between Ivan, the house and the woods.  He wound around Ivan again, and meowed insistently, distressed, glancing around again at the house, to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>woods - </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh.  He felt a flush color his cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blini was </span>
  <em>
    <span>worried. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I imagine that Alfred not being here was quite startling,” he hummed, feeling his own gut clench when the cat meowed mournfully, winding closer and nudging at his hand.  Blini blinked at him and then wound around him to stare at the forest.  Ivan felt his heart break.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We will bring him home,” he promised Alfred’s watchful companion.  “Do not worry, da?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blini meowed again, nudging at his arms until Ivan got the hint that his highness wanted to be carried and lifted him up.  Blini purred, momentarily content, and nuzzled into the comfort of Ivan’s scarf.  Ivan smiled at his lover’s furry companion, genuine but small, tired.  One that faded into a fierce determination as he looked up to stare at the woods that had stolen Alfred away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We will bring him home,” he repeated, but this time, it was a vow etched in blood, soul deep and powerful.  And Ivan knew - like he knew the way the winter snows would come, when the ice on the Neva would crack, what the winds would bring from lands afar - that they would not leave the forest without Alfred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No matter what it took.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Featuring a cameo of a new character that's in the works to feature in his own little series.  Say hello to Blini!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Promises to Keep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry this chapter ran a little late, but here you go!  The major climax!<br/>Last chapter after this is the Epilogue, and should be out tomorrow for Halloween, so I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wind spirit, anxious as it was, led them towards the forest where the entity dwelled under the cover of the predawn darkness.  All of them were decked out in as much tactical gear as they could find in America’s home - which, as Ivan had expected, was <em> a lot. </em> Matthew had brought along some of his own when he’d come down from Canada, as had Ivan himself.  Francis and the Kirkland brothers had made do with what they could find well enough.</p>
<p>The forest they were guided towards was quite a drive away from the Virginia estate it had stolen Alfred away from, and the drive itself had been full of nothing but tense silence as they approached the ink-dark shadow of the forest stained against the night sky.  They’d gone over the plan too many times beforehand to want one more debrief, especially with everyone so on edge.</p>
<p>Ivan highly doubted anyone had slept well the night before.  The only reason he’d gotten any sleep at all was because Blini had practically herded him to their - the guest bedroom and parked himself atop Ivan’s chest.  And even then, his sleep had been far from peaceful.</p>
<p>He pushed the thoughts away as he felt the car slow.  He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, forcing his body to calm even as his heart rate picked up.</p>
<p>They had arrived.</p>
<p>Slipping from the car, he studied the forest before them in the dark of predawn.  They would have to be quick, knowing that the longer they took to find Alfred, the more chance the entity would realize their plan.  Even if it was as mad as the wind spirit had claimed, it was still an intelligent entity.</p>
<p>And dawn did not last forever.</p>
<p>He heard Matthew’s breath hitch, eyes going distant and glazed before they refocused on the forest looming in front of him.</p>
<p><em> “Oh,” </em>the Canadian murmured softly, barely breathing as he stared into the depths of the woods before him, “that’s how mother found him.”</p>
<p>All eyes turned to him in unison.</p>
<p><em> “Mathieu?” </em>Francis asked, the crease between his brows revealing the depth of his worry, “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I told you - before,” Matthew said, almost dazed, “before Alfred was born, this thing ate all of Mother’s successors.  All of her children-who-would’ve-been.  And she could never <em> find </em> them once it took them, only felt it when they passed,” the nations exchanged dark, pained glances.  To feel your nation-kin fading was something no one deserved to know.  Ivan himself had only been a child when his mother had faded, thanks to the Mongolian Empire, and there were no words for the bone deep agony that resulted.  To feel your <em> children </em> pass before their time, when children were so <em> rare </em>and precious to their kind…it was unimaginable.  Idly, he hoped that Matthew had been young enough to either have never experienced the pain, or to have been unaware of his siblings’ passings; close enough in age to Alfred to have perhaps experienced but not remembered the pain of it.  </p>
<p>Perhaps old enough to know of the agony, but too young to have known the cause.  Perhaps that had been what influenced how terrifying the younger nation could be when it came to Alfred’s safety.</p>
<p>Perhaps.</p>
<p>Matthew continued, perhaps unaware of the dark turn of thought of the others, “But Alfred was the first one - the <em> only </em> one - she was able to rescue,” he murmured, eyes clearing, “and now… now I think I know <em> why.”  </em></p>
<p>He stepped forwards, eyes sliding shut and turned so he was facing the forest at an angle, and said, with a dazed sort of wonder, “The forest - it’s...it’s <em> amplifying </em>our bond, instead of suppressing it.  I can feel him.”  Indigo eyes opened and turned to them, bright and burning, “I know where he is.”</p>
<p>As if the world itself had heard them, the wind blew through in an echoing howl, shivers dancing down their spine as the temperature dropped.  Above them, the ink-darkness of the sky began to bloom with petals of gray.</p>
<p>Rhys breathed in deeply, eyes sliding half shut, and murmured, “Dawn is breaking.”</p>
<p><em> “Hurry,” </em> the wind spirit urged, alarm thick in its tone, <em> “The witchling’s power has made it stronger.  You will not go undetected for much longer.”  </em></p>
<p>Ivan saw Matthew’s eyes narrow on the dancing wind, and nodded curtly.</p>
<p>“Well then,” the Canadian said, tightening the strap on the back of his gloves, eyes darkening, “let’s get this show on the road.”</p>
<p>Ivan glanced over his shoulder as they slipped into the dark forest, watching as Arthur’s eyes lit up with magic, the air growing heavy and saturated at the once-Empire’s command, and wished them luck.  Turning his eyes back to Matthew’s faintly gleaming ones, he nodded and off they went.</p>
<p>They barely made it past the treeline before a furious snarl split the air, and the world chilled around them.</p>
<p>Ivan latched onto Matthew and practically <em> hauled </em>him through the forest at the familiar touch of hoarfrost on the back of his neck, only letting go as the air around them warmed.  Vicious British taunting was still audible in the distance, along with the sound of a muted explosion, but Ivan didn’t dare look back this time.</p>
<p>Instead, Ivan focused on the forest itself.</p>
<p>If he’d had any doubt of the wind spirit’s information - which there had been, <em> plenty </em> - the forest itself would’ve wiped them all away.  Through the veil of shadows that shrouded the scene, it appeared that the forest was rotting away - <em> dying </em> in a manner so unnatural that it sent shivers down his spine.  A rotting process millennia long condensed into mere minutes.  And yet, at the same time, the damage was being undone as the forest <em> grew </em> and was <em> healed, </em>trees half-rotted and growing green once more that gleamed with a subtle golden light that Ivan knew to be Alfred’s own life energy.</p>
<p>It was a terrifying juxtaposition, a tragic brilliance that he bore witness too: this mockery of the cycle of life and death melding into rebirth.</p>
<p>Ivan wondered if, perhaps, he should share this solemn observation with Alfred, when they recovered him.  But considered, then, that perhaps now was not the best time to think on such things.</p>
<p>When they dared allow themselves to slow - if only to let themselves recover their breath - the sound of swearing and the muted <em> boom </em>of the ongoing magical distraction were far fainter.  Matthew offered up a half-smile half-grimace, looking an odd mixture of stressed and amused.</p>
<p>“Heh,” he huffed, “Arthur would’ve washed our mouths out with soap if we ever used even a <em> tenth </em>of what he’s spewing right now.”</p>
<p>As if to prove his point, the swearing in the distance got abruptly louder and more vitriolic, and the accompanying cacophony was ear piercing.  They both winced.</p>
<p>Ivan gave his arm a comforting squeeze, offering a sympathetic smile, knowing of the worry behind the humor, “They will be alright, Matvey,” he reassured the younger, “after all, all of Europe has done their best to knock your fathers down, and yet, they are still standing, are they not?”</p>
<p>Matthew snorted, offering Ivan a small smile in thanks, before straightening to take in their surroundings.  The shadows still veiled the woods, and the path forwards felt ominous and looming ahead of them.  But the air was warm on their necks, and the distractions loud behind them.  Ivan watched as Matthew’s eyes slipped closed, and expression of concentration creasing his features, before they snapped open.  The Canadian angled himself deeper into the woods, a degree slightly more to the east of where they’d been blindly dashing through the woods, and nodded.</p>
<p>“I’ve got him,” he said softly, indigo eyes narrowing off into the distance, and Ivan nodded sharply.</p>
<p>“Lead the way, then, Matvey.”</p>
<p>They took it slow, first.  No matter how much ground they’d covered in that initial, desperate sprint into the woods, they couldn't afford to go too fast and draw unwanted attention.  Especially not when the distraction team was hard at work, doing just that for them.  They went slow enough that every surprise tree - or suspiciously low-hanging branch, or roots that seemed to <em> appear </em>out of nowhere just in time for unwary feet to get caught and tangled up in them - was noted and avoided carefully.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, the closer they seemed to get to their destination, the more the energy of the forest seemed to affect Matthew.  The Canadian had already stopped more than once to refocus himself, at one point wavering on his feet before Ivan steadied him.  He seemed to grow more frantic, less careful.  To the point where he would’ve tripped headfirst into a rack of low-hanging branches if Ivan hadn’t caught him in time.</p>
<p>And then it just kept getting <em> worse.  </em></p>
<p>The explosions became even more muted, and the cursing faded to indistinguishable even in the unnatural stillness of the forest as they went farther and farther into the shadowy woods.  A frenetic energy seemed to overcome the Canadian, and Ivan had to quicken his pace to keep up with the other nation, dodging mishaps all the while.</p>
<p>Another near miss with the sharp edge of a branch that had <em> almost </em>scratched bloody grooves into his face made him glad he’d tucked the loose edges of his scarf into his coat before they’d set off.</p>
<p>The air was still warm, even as the wind howled and the shadows whispered.  There was no tell-tale breath of hoarfrost on their necks, nor gleam of gold in the darkness.  They were still unnoticed.</p>
<p>But Ivan worried at <em> how long </em>they would continue to be so, when Matthew seemed to lose caution with every step they took.</p>
<p>As if hearing his thoughts, Matthew went still only a few feet ahead of him, eyes sliding out of focus.  They slid back into focus seconds later, just as Ivan stopped next to him, and there was something wild and frantic in the indigo depths.</p>
<p>Ivan’s arms came up and grabbed at Matthew’s forearms just before the younger nation tried to hurtle away, knowing enough of his beloved to know the other’s brother.</p>
<p>“Matvey,” he said urgently, “what happened?”</p>
<p>Matthew almost <em> snarled </em>at him, and that was enough to hold Ivan steady, jaw firmed as he braced for any response.</p>
<p>“I can sense him,” the Canadian snarled, “he’s <em> there - so close,” </em>but the shock of it wasn’t enough to jar Ivan’s hold.</p>
<p>But he wasn’t prepared for Canada’s strength to rival his brother’s.</p>
<p>Matthew wrenched out of his hold, something almost <em> feral </em>in his eyes - wild, like the blizzards that were so strong they caused the land itself to quake - and bolted off, at an angle from where they’d originally been heading.  Ivan cursed and leapt after him.</p>
<p>Just in time to snag the Canadian by the collar and yank him back, preventing him from colliding with an ink-dark tree that both of them would’ve sworn blind hadn’t been there seconds ago.</p>
<p>Ivan had never been inclined to arson.  No, setting things on fire had never really been his style.  He was ice cold, and his rage was as frigid and dangerous as the General’s wrath.</p>
<p>But in moments like these, he thought uncharitably, he could understand the urge.</p>
<p>Ivan couldn’t wait until they got out of this hell forest.</p>
<p>After several more close encounters with sadistic trees and devil roots alike - with Ivan dragging an increasingly frantic Matthew away from a full face plant more than once - Matthew made a strangled sound just ahead of him, stumbling to a jarring halt that had Ivan nearly bowling him over.</p>
<p>“Matvey, what -,” his words abandoned him.</p>
<p>They were at the treeline of a clearing.  Only, instead of being a soft ring of slowly brightening light as the dawn sun continued its slow climb into the sky, this clearing was dark, layered in shadow.  The trees were ink dark stains against the sky, shifting ominously in the howl of an unnatural gale  The grass was a sea of shadows.  A chill, like hoarfrost, ran down their spines, all the hairs on the back of their necks standing up at attention.</p>
<p>And at the center of the clearing, gold <em> gleamed.  </em></p>
<p><em> “Fedya,” </em>Ivan breathed, heart racing.</p>
<p>At the center of the clearing, Alfred slept.  He was frowning in the depths of the poisoned sleep, but he slept.  Shadows layered over him, like restraints, like a cage, even as they gleamed with fresh golden energy that seemed to seep out from him.  Hands clasped over his stomach, he looked like one of his beloved Disney princesses.  Asleep, yes.  He was asleep.</p>
<p>But he was <em> alive.  </em></p>
<p>At his side, Matthew hiccuped on a sob, relief emanating from him so strongly Ivan could <em> feel </em>it.  Alfred had not been devoured.  He was asleep, but not out of reach.</p>
<p>But before they could move closer, the shadows darkened.</p>
<p>Matthew swore quietly in what sounded like dirty Quebecois, dragging Ivan back until they were barely visible behind the treeline.  Ivan bit back his own curses, as they watched the chains of shadow seemed to thicken, the gleam of gold seeping from Alfred glowing brighter.  The frown on Alfred’s face grew deeper, and a furrow appeared between his brows - the first hint of pain that Ivan could see, burning something red hot and lethal deep within the former superpower.</p>
<p>They heard a distant roar, accompanied by an even more distant-sounding explosion, and the understanding hit Ivan at once.</p>
<p>
  <em> It was distracted.  </em>
</p>
<p>Distracted and desperate enough to drain even more power from Alfred to take on the distraction.  Distracted, but likely <em> watching.   </em></p>
<p>This time it was Ivan who pulled Matthew away when the other moved to go forwards.  He shook his head at Matthew’s glare.</p>
<p>“It is watching,” he said in a low voice, catching the way some patches of darkness seemed particularly treacherous, “It does not matter if you hide your signature.  It will <em> see </em> you.  It cannot <em> see me.” </em> Or, even if it could, it couldn’t touch him.</p>
<p>Matthew’s frown tightened on his face, but he nodded.  “I know,” he said, fists clenched against the rough bark of the tree there were hiding behind, “Go, I’ll watch your back.”</p>
<p>He needed no more prompting.</p>
<p>Breaking from the treeline, Ivan <em> ran.  </em></p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>The world swam in and out, as if the entity was distracted.  He could vaguely feel familiar presences just outside of his range.  When the memories came, they were hazy on their edges, but Alfred paid it no heed.</p>
<p>In his memories, his mother held him gently.</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mama,” he said, tugging at the wrap that held him close to his mother’s chest, having outgrown the cradleboard not long ago.  “Mama, where did the pwetty gold go?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His mother sighed, reaching the wide, flat rocks near the riverbed where they could sit as they talked.  Undoing the wrap, she settled her son closer to her side. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mama?” he asked again, climbing into her lap as she smiled tiredly at him. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “You must be careful, my little one,” his mother whispered to him, brushing a hand through his hair.  “It has stolen away my children before.  It has made Mama very sad.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Alfred-who-was-not-yet-Alfred only blinked.  He was still too young to understand the agony of grief in her voice, only barely held at bay. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “But Mama,” he protested, “it was pwetty, Mama.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His mother sighed, eyes going distant and contemplative, before they brightened. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “It was pretty, yes?” she asked, and Alfred lit up, nodding, “Like the fire is pretty?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The toddler tilted his head and considered it.  He remembered the pretty colors of the cooking fire that made the meat warm and nice smelling. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “But remember what happened when you put your hand in the prettiness, little one?” she asked gently. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The toddler’s eyes went wide, and he cradled his hand to his chest, “Ouchies, Mama,” he insisted, patting his hand, looking down at it as if remembering the burns.  “Pretty fire is not like Mama’s fire.  Mama’s fire doesn’t give ouchies.” </em>
</p>
<p>Something twisted inside him, painful and taut, and he felt his face twisting.  Something was wrong.  It hurt, oh <em> it hurt, </em>what was -</p>
<p>
  <em> “The pretty gold is like the fire, dear one,” she said, gentle to her toddler’s wide eyes and new fright, but firm, “It will hurt you.  You must stay away from it.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She tugged out his little hand and gave it a kiss, soothing the imaginary wound, making her little one giggle despite his newborn fright. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “My little fire-heart,” she hummed, running a hand through his hair, “You are pretty green and growing things, but at your heart, you are fire.  You will be as dangerous as I am, one day.”  She brushed her fingers against little baby feet, and he laughed, delighted. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mama!” he giggled, “Again!” </em>
</p>
<p>A familiar presence brushing against his skin - so close he could feel it.  Northern air, rich fir forests, a spine of mountains they shared.  <em> Brother-of-mine-own.  </em>Where -</p>
<p>
  <em> “You are a candle flame, my darling,” his mother cooed to him, tickling to make him giggle, his young mind already setting the fear aside in favor of delight, “You must grow.  Grow to be a bonfire.  A big, beautiful bonfire that is visible as far as the eye can see.” </em>
</p>
<p><em> “Grow,” she whispered to him, hours later, knowing her words would go unheard as he finally succumbed to sleep in her arms, “grow so that it may never devour you.  Grow, so that you can </em> <b> <em>live.” </em> </b></p>
<p>
  <em> The words he hadn’t heard then swirled around him, echoing in his mind, as he felt his mouth crease into a frown.  How - how did he know that? </em>
</p>
<p><em> Noise.  There were </em> noises coming from <em> somewhere - somewhere </em> Alfred couldn’t tell, what was going <em> on? </em></p>
<p><em> Voices.  There were voices but </em> whose voices were they, why did they <em> seem so familiar?  Why were they </em> just out of reach?  Why were the memories stuttering - <em> this had never happened before.  It was like he </em> was <b>awake </b> but <em> not quite -  </em></p>
<p><em> Then, there were </em> lips on his lips, a heart calling to his, bidding him to wake <em> and the world swirling in the depths of his mind exploded into stars.  </em></p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>Alfred snapped awake between one breath and another, eyes flickering open to meet familiar violets he’d last seen in an echoing position.</p>
<p><em> Love magic, </em> he mused, in the corner of his mind not immediately preoccupied with literally <em> everything else </em>as they broke the kiss.</p>
<p>“Fedya,” Ivan breathed, the relief in his eyes almost overwhelming.</p>
<p>“Vanya?” he croaked, voice hoarse and shaky, staring at his lover, “What - how did you -?”</p>
<p>“No time for that right now,” another voice interjected hastily, and he blinked, looking over to spot the harried form of his brother.  Indigo eyes scanned the treeline, watchful and wary, but they rested on him for a long moment, softening, before returning to the routine checks.  Instinct and centuries of observing his brother whispered to him.  They weren’t out of danger yet.  No, not at all.</p>
<p>“It would’ve felt that,” Matthew murmured, urgency in his voice, “we have to <em> go.”  </em></p>
<p>“I can’t,” he said weakly, struggling even to stand upright, “the forest - it’s still draining me.  It’s hard enough to keep my eyes open.”</p>
<p>It was only the terrifying fear of what would happen if he let them shut that kept him going.</p>
<p>Ivan’s curses were heartfelt and vicious, and he could tell even without looking at the other that violet eyes had darkened, aura burning black.</p>
<p>“The damned spirit,” his lover snarled, “said a kiss would break the spell.”</p>
<p>Alfred nodded, leaning against a familiar shoulder as a wave of exhaustion and nausea rushed through him with the increased drain.  If he let his eyes drift closed just the <em> slightest </em> bit, he could almost hear a stream of British curses and the feel of familiar magic warring, but he pushed himself to stay centered.  He tried to refocus on the presence nearest to him - <em> cold-wrath-protective- </em> <b> <em>brother-brother-brother </em> </b> <em> -  </em></p>
<p>“It did,” he croaked, yanking himself out of the almost-trance, “I wouldn’t be awake otherwise.”  Though the poisoned sleep was almost <em> kinder, </em> as long as the entity wasn’t tormenting him, given the way he could <em> feel </em> the forest pulling at him.  And all the sudden physical symptoms that came with it taking everything he would give and more.  “Love magic is strong,” he added, recalling the feeling of a heart calling to his own, bidding him to <em> wake, </em>“But the binding to my core is not the same spell -,”</p>
<p>A roar from afar, full of fury and a crazed sense of rage.  Alfred felt his body go limp, collapsing into Ivan’s arms to frenzied shouts, as he was <em> yanked </em>away -</p>
<p>
  <em> Golden eyes glared at him in the haze of his subconscious, the scene of an ink-dark night hazing and flickering out around him. </em>
</p>
<p><em> “You will not get away,” it swore, even flickering as it was, expending too much energy and stretching its awareness thin.  Alfred could </em> <b> <em>see </em> </b> <em> it, in this strange place between sleep and wakefulness.  He could hear Rhys’s furious Welsh cursing as he hit something with a loud splash, could see Francis and Reilley tripping as they ran from something out of a nightmare. </em></p>
<p><em> Could </em> <b> <em>feel </em> </b> <em> the entity reach out to where </em> <b> <em>Alfred </em> </b> <em> was, searching furiously for - </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Mattie.  Ivan. </em>
</p>
<p><em> No.  </em> <b> <em>No.  He refused. </em> </b></p>
<p><em> The entity laughed at him, as the thought echoed throughout the strange place they were in.  It tugged harder on his energy, forcing the golden radiance to drain, causing him to go white in Ivan’s arms - he could </em> <b> <em>hear </em> </b> <em> Mattie and Ivan’s alarm -  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “You do not have the means to be free of me,” the entity snarled, and Alfred almost recoiled as it neared him, except - </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Except - </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Every time the entity had confronted him, there had always been an ease around it.  An air of nonchalance.  As if the way things would play out was set in stone, and it happened entirely in its favor.  But now -  </em>
</p>
<p><em> It was </em> <b> <em>furious. </em> </b></p>
<p>
  <em> Alfred shook his head, trying to clear the haze from his thoughts, to free his thoughts of the soul deep fear that shook through him whenever the gold-eyed creature came near - </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Realization dawned like sunrise on the solstice. </em>
</p>
<p><b> <em>Fear.  </em> </b> <em> Not just his fear - the entity’s too. </em></p>
<p><em> It wasn’t sure.  It didn’t </em> <b> <em>know </em> </b> <em> if Alfred could break free. </em></p>
<p><em> Which meant that - that maybe he </em> <b> <em>could. </em> </b></p>
<p>
  <em> He thought of how Ivan had called to him, deep in the poisoned sleep.  Remembered a heart calling out to his own, bidding him to wake.  Following the beacon back into his own body, into Ivan’s arms. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Ivan didn’t have a magical signature Alfred could pinpoint.  But Ivan was not the only one in that clearing that Alfred loved. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Alfred let his eyes glaze, finding his brother’s presence - dimmed, but ever present to Alfred, who’d grown up around the other - using it to anchor him.  Used Matthew as the North Star he was, following the strong northern wind, the chill of an oncoming blizzard, a strength shared across their lands so strong it mirrored their love of each other and -  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Golden eyes widened. </em>
</p>
<p><em> - </em> <b> <em>yanked </em> </b> <em> himself out and </em> <b>awake. </b></p>
<p>He gasped for breath, jerking awake once more in Ivan’s arms.</p>
<p>Staggering to his feet, though he still had to lean against Ivan to get remotely upright, he forced himself to ignore their frantic shouting and outright confusion.</p>
<p><em> It’s coming. </em> He could feel it.</p>
<p><em> Breathe, </em> he told himself, nerves raw and fear high still, <em> breathe.  Like Mother told you.  </em></p>
<p>Breathe, and center himself, it was key.  So even though the panic was thick like a weighted smog in the air, he breathed, and focused on himself.  On his core.  On the magic that still pulsed through his body, clinging to the dancing wind and sliding through him to gentle the forest around him.</p>
<p>Breathed, and <em> held, </em> because that wasn’t right.  He could <em> feel </em> the forest, like he always could, but he <em> shouldn’t </em> because it wasn’t <em> his.  </em></p>
<p>And then, he felt the forest grow stronger, felt the entity pulling directly from the reservoir of golden-bright energy at his core, miles off, to shove aside his family at the edges of the sprawling expanse in the name of getting to Alfred and -</p>
<p>And suddenly, Alfred <em>knew.  </em>He <em>knew </em>why the entity had become obsessed with him; why it had chased him time and again, even after he’d aged into his mother’s power.  Why it had chased him, not his mother, and never stopped until he was <em>it’s </em>to devour.  Even when it <em>knew </em>what might happen to it.</p>
<p>Because his mother had been a bonfire, truly.  And while she had been the land, earth and the growth of green things had never been a gift she could claim.  She had traced him, been able to save him, because of <em> his </em>green magic, because she was the land, though she held a different magic.  And that bonfire had no appeal to a creature born of a forest’s darkness, not when it was as likely to burn it as feed it.  No, the creature had no such pyrrhic ambitions.</p>
<p>But Alfred <em> was </em> the forest.  He was the land, but he was <em> more, </em> because the land was in his power, like fire and life had been in his mother’s.  He felt every inch of the forest, every animal that hovered on the periphery of his awareness, every whisper of wind that blew through the greenery.  It was <em> his, </em>and he controlled it when he wished it to be so.</p>
<p>The entity was the forest’s darkness, and every forest on his land was <em> his </em>to command.</p>
<p>And he knew <em> exactly </em>what to do.</p>
<p>He turned his attention inwards.  Every <em> ounce </em> of attention and power he could command was focused into this single task, looking within himself for the glowing golden link that was <em> leeching </em>power from him.  Draining him, like flood waters receding back to the ocean once the storm had passed.</p>
<p>It’s easy enough to find, what with the power being actively harvested from his body.  So when he did find it, he reached inwards - shutting out the frantic world around him - and grabbed onto the link tightly.</p>
<p>And <em> yanked.  </em></p>
<p>Reversing the power flow should’ve been impossible.  If he let himself be defined by the rules and limitations others had imposed on what he knew of his own powers, it would’ve been.  But he knew himself.  And he knew his land.</p>
<p>And this was <em> nothing </em> he <em> couldn’t </em>do.</p>
<p>Links almost always run both ways, after all.  It’s a shame the entity had forgotten the reason it had gone after Alfred in the first place.</p>
<p>It worked <em> instantly.  </em>The woods darkened, and the golden power keeping him trapped, bound, and helpless faded from view as it came flooding back into him through the two-way link the entity had established.</p>
<p>And suddenly, he could feel it <em> all.  </em> He could feel the entity’s darkness and corruption jolting to a halt in the middle of the woods, feel the wild nature of the forest stirring under his feet, feel the animals waiting restlessly at the treeline, just out of view, waiting to return home.  He could feel it all because it was <em> his, </em> and it was <em> him; </em> because the forest was the land and the land was <em> him, </em> and everything green and growing and <em> living </em>was his to command.</p>
<p>He never demanded anything of the land that it couldn’t give him.  He preferred to coax and cajole, to speak sweetly to his growing things, and coo to the animals and trees that called to him.  But that didn’t mean he <em> couldn’t.  </em></p>
<p>So he <em> did.  </em> And he pulled away every <em> ounce </em> of stolen power from the entity born of the forest’s darkness, and took it for his own.  He pulled every inch of <em> him </em>that the entity had taken under his control and forced it back under his dominion.</p>
<p>He was the land, and the land was <em> his. </em> It came, and came gleefully.</p>
<p>And the entity <em> fractured.  </em></p>
<p>The loud roar that resulted from it was <em> deafening. </em> The nations flinched collectively as the roar echoed throughout the forest, dropping to the ground with hands clapped around their ears as the pitch climbed to something almost unbearably piercing, before the sound cut out abruptly.  Leaving behind an eerie echo of devastation in the silence that lingered afterwards.</p>
<p>Alfred was the first to stand, after a long moment of basking in the silence as the forest comes back to life.  He staggered almost immediately after he got to his feet, Ivan’s quick reflexes the only thing that saved him from collapsing straight back down to the ground.  His lover’s arms shifted around him, anchoring him as Alfred slung an arm around those strong shoulders, letting the adrenaline fade from his racing heart.</p>
<p>The excess of energy bubbling in his veins was probably the only thing keeping him remotely upright, given he’d expected to be laid flat out by the slowly decreasing adrenaline.  But even then, he knew it would fade slowly, and he would slip out of consciousness in order to recover.</p>
<p>Fuck.  Recovery was going to be <em> such </em>a bitch.</p>
<p>“Mattie?” he croaked, casting his gaze around for a glimpse of pale blond locks and familiar flannel scarf.  He knew his brother was there - sensed him guarding their periphery while Ivan approached him to try breaking the enchantment - but where had he gone?</p>
<p>His northern brother strode into view immediately, relief filling wary and watchful indigo eyes that were still darting around the forest, waiting.  “Al,” he said, voice thick and relieved, “are you okay?”</p>
<p>“‘M fine,” he huffed, still struggling to do more than lean against his partner.  Then, he blinked, taking in his brother fully, and said, “Matt why you wearin’ a t-shirt? ‘S <em> October.”  </em></p>
<p>Mattie’s face did a weird twitch, and Alfred blined when he felt the side he was leaning against shake.  Then, Matthew put his face in his hands and groaned, long and loud and exasperated, and Ivan - <em> oh, the shaking had been laughter </em>- started to snicker.</p>
<p>“Of course that’s the first thing you notice,” his brother moaned, “of course.”</p>
<p>Alfred offered his brother a lazy smile, and let himself lean more into Ivan’s side as the man laughed.  The mood lightened with every moment of good humor they allowed themselves.</p>
<p>Rustles in the forest abruptly caught their attention, causing all three of them to go on alert - or, well, as alert as Alfred <em> could </em> be at this point.  Ivan tugged Alfred behind him, and the woozy superpower went with only a token complaint, watching Matthew drag up whatever was left of his reserves as they <em> braced -  </em></p>
<p>Only to relax, relieved, when they realized who’d finally found them.</p>
<p>“Thank god,” Matthew breathed, the weight of worry fleeing leaving only the blissful feeling of relief.  “You’re all oka - Oh <em> Maple! </em>  What the fuck happend to <em> you?”  </em></p>
<p>Francis twitched as he coughed up more bird feathers, looking only marginally more put together than Reilley, and leveled his former colony with a glare, and said, “Do. Not. Ask.”</p>
<p>Reilley, who was more mud man than nation at that point, looked significantly more traumatized at the thought of even <em> recounting </em>what had just happened.  For the nation who’d spent much of his life travelling as a bard, that was something.</p>
<p>“You look like you got hit by a landslide,” Matthew muttered.</p>
<p>“If wishing made it so,” Francis muttered viciously, wringing - <em> something </em> out of his silky French hair.  Alfred wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was.  He didn’t know anything in the forest that came in that shade of purple.  Reilley slid down to splay out on the ground, exhausted, and Alfred hadn’t realized that anyone could be remotely comfortable with <em> that many </em>twigs sticking out of them.</p>
<p>Uncle Reilley looked more like a hedgehog, he considered.  The fact that his mind was already torn between amusement and hysteria certainly didn’t help him.</p>
<p>More rustling came, and Alfred stared when Arthur and the rest of the distraction team filtered in, staggering, and barely upright but determined.  Arthur was missing half an eyebrow and looked nearly as charcoaled as his food did most of the time.  Rhys, to complement his youngest brother, looked like he’d been drug out of the bottom of a lake and took half of it with him on the way out.  And Alistair - Alfred cringed.  Poor Uncle Al.</p>
<p><em> “Well,” </em> said uncle growled, “you lot look positively <em> dandy.”  </em></p>
<p>And given how conspicuously untouched Mattie and Ivan actually were - some scratches and a handful of developing bruises at most - he wasn’t that far off the mark with that one.</p>
<p>Alfred felt like laughing, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stop himself from crying if he let himself go.</p>
<p><em> Oooh, wait, </em> he noted, as he realized the world wasn’t spinning because of the laughter he was biting back, but because it was <em> actually spinning and oh, I think I’m about to -  </em></p>
<p>“D’nt w’rry,” he slurred out, to much abrupt alarm, “‘mma pass out, k?”</p>
<p>And proceeded to do just that.</p>
<p>At least this time, though, he was pretty confident he’d be able to wake up.</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>In a corner of the forest, a small patch of darkness stirred.  Dulled amber instead of shining gold gazed out wearily into the forest, just as the wind danced through the leaves.</p>
<p><em> “Wh-,” </em> it coughed, <em> “Why?” </em></p>
<p>The little wind spirit tumbled around the little patch of darkness, hesitant but unapologetic.  <em> “Why, what?” </em>it asked, in response.</p>
<p>The entity stared up into the endless canopy of the forest, still rich in life even on the cusp of the winter, and wheezed, <em> “Why did you betray me?”   </em></p>
<p>The wind spirit was quiet.</p>
<p><em> “You, who called me friend,” </em> the entity mourned, <em> “You, who helped me trap all my prey.  Who has been with me since the beginning.  Why, my friend?”  </em></p>
<p>The wind spirit bounced around the patch of darkness, still not strong enough to even manifest itself as a form, and sighed.</p>
<p><em> “Because you are my friend,” </em> the wind spirit whispered, like the autumn breeze.  Golden eyes slipped shut as the entity sighed.  <em> “Because it would save you.”  </em></p>
<p>The forest rustled, as the wind brushed through the trees.  The sound of animals going about their business, as if the entity had not hurt them so.</p>
<p>The patch of darkness was silent for a long while.  And then - </p>
<p>
  <em> “Thank you.”  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Title refers to both the poem the series title is from, but also the promises that Ivan's made that he's going to keep in this chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Epilogue: And Miles to Go Before I Sleep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh my goodness, thank y'all so much for coming along with me on this journey.  Have your last chapter, and a Happy Halloween!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Alfred recovers.  This doesn’t mean he forgets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first night after he woke from the mini-coma his body had sent him into in order to physically recover, he’d still been too exhausted to consider everything.  He’d allowed his father and </span>
  <em>
    <span>papa </span>
  </em>
  <span>to fuss over him, his brother to handle things he’d let slip while he’d been taken, and his lover to cuddle him in an embrace that felt of a bone deep </span>
  <em>
    <span>safety </span>
  </em>
  <span>so profound that Alfred had eventually fallen asleep in his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be the only night of peaceful sleep he would have for quite some time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Things started small.  His body was still exhausted and physically recovering.  His nightmares were distant dreams that had him shaking awake in a cold sweat before Ivan could calm him, but they were few a night, and he could still sleep.  Having Ivan nearby certainly helped him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There had been no warmth in that terrifying sleep, other than what he could scrounge from his memories.  The warmth hadn’t been real, and the tinge of hoarfrost that coiled around him had never gone away.  And Ivan, regardless of what others might say, was warm and so very </span>
  <em>
    <span>real. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan was </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe </span>
  </em>
  <span>in a way nothing or no one else was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe </span>
  </em>
  <span>became important in the wake of the chaos.  As the days passed, and Alfred’s body recovered, the effects of what had happened became more and more evident.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nightlights became a necessity, to keep the house from the total darkness that would send Alfred into an anxiety attack.  The window or the doors creaking at a certain pitch sent his heart rate skyrocketing.  In the morning, a dismayed Matthew realized that Alfred had caught sight of the gleam of his hair in the mirror - in the split second that it took for the bathroom light to flicker on - and slid down the tiled wall, shaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blini, it seemed, had an Alfred-radar of sorts.  He was always, without fail, the first to realize when Alfred had been triggered by something, and the first to react.  It hardly took a day before the other nations picked up on Blini’s uncanny intuition and learned to react accordingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blini, in fact, had been the way they’d found out about the air conditioning problem.  Alfred had been sitting in the basement entertainment center as the brothers squabbled and Francis poked fun at them, while Matthew rolled his eyes at the whole thing, one eye on Alfred.  The air conditioning had turned on, and none of them had </span>
  <em>
    <span>noticed </span>
  </em>
  <span>it, but Alfred had certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt </span>
  </em>
  <span>it.  The chill of the fan blowing cold air on the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.  He’d tried to ignore it, to focus on what Reilley and Rhys were arguing about, and hadn’t realized he’d been shaking until Blini had plopped down onto his lap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They switched on the heating a little early this year.  And Alfred’s winter clothes made an early appearance in his wardrobe, along with a hefty variety of scarves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred, when he found the sudden surprise in his closet, brushed a hand against a scarf with a familiar maker’s mark, feeling the smile curling on the corner of his lips.  And he reminded himself to call Katya to thank her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were constant adjustments made around the house; the only sign that his family didn’t believe him when he said he would be alright, but they would leave it be and keep an eye on it nonetheless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But his family couldn’t stay forever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Kirkland brothers were the first to leave.  Samhain having passed uneventfully - a blessing for all of them, after the chaos of the days before - they had to venture back home.  With every eye on the US for the upcoming elections, now was not the time for other nations to impose themselves on America’s hospitality.  Rhys and Alistair ran a final perimeter check, the process of incorporating the two styles of warding ever ongoing, as Reilley wrapped his nephew in a hug before Arthur could hog him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur fussed something awful before he left, telling Alfred there were two trays of scones in the kitchen should he want them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Francis, who’d been staying in Canada and would be traveling back with said nation, promptly visited the kitchen with a garbage back once Arthur vanished out the front door, and winked at Alfred as the teenage superpower rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew was the last of the group to leave.  Francis had already said his own goodbyes and gone out to the cab.  He was talking idly with the cab driver while the brothers said their goodbyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred didn’t want him to leave.  He didn’t know why, but he didn’t.  And from the strain showing at the corner of indigo eyes, or the way Matt’s face was set, he could tell that his brother really didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to leave either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it was because even though it had been Ivan who’d woken him, it had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>Matthew </span>
  </em>
  <span>who Alfred had used as a North Star to save himself.  Because his brother’s lands had held him safe and protected from the entity before.  Because -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because even though he’d long since stopped turning to his elder brother for protection - had been dragged headfirst into the realization that Matthew was a person, was fallible, was just as capable of hurting him as anyone else and </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>- a part of his heart remembered a time centuries gone, whispered </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother-mine </span>
  </em>
  <span>and begged him not to leave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their goodbye hug seemed to last an eternity.  Wrapped around each other like they were children again, remembering cold winter nights cuddled together by the fire, neither wanting to let go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, the cab honked outside, and the brothers drew apart.  Matthew pulled back, staring at him levely for a long moment before he said, “Call me if you need anything, you got that, Al?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred knew the grin that curled on his lips was strained, but he smiled through it anyways, and said, “You’re going to regret that when I start binging the Great British Bake Off at 3am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew snorted, but his eyes were lighter and his smile not nearly as strained, so it was well worth it.  But then, Mattie’s eyes turned to Ivan, who was hovering not too far away from the brothers, and they seemed to have an entire conversation just with their eyes, which - when did they learn to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>that? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But at last, they nodded to each other, Matthew gave him another lightning-quick hug, before bolting out the door just as the horn blared again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then it was just him, and just Ivan, who’d settled at his back, wrapping him up in an aura of safety.  It was an intangible safety, a space Alfred could be himself, like he was wrapped in a blanket where no one could find him, that settled into his heart just as Matthew’s tangible protection, his shelter from the storm that swept across him, did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred turned into that welcoming embrace, and let the feeling of warmth and safety and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ivan </span>
  </em>
  <span>overwhelm him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan who, despite the elections, the meddling, the chaos brewing, was staying.  At least for another week, he’d promised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was perhaps a day or two before Ivan had to leave when Alfred finally told him what happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been a small point of concern amongst the large group that had gone after him.  That Alfred had been unable to tell them what all had happened during his captivity.  He’d told them, soon after he’d woken the second time around, that he had hazy memories of the poisoned sleep, and nothing stood out with any clarity until Matthew and Ivan had arrived in the clearing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew had eyed him suspiciously, the centuries of knowing Alfred cluing him into something being off, but Arthur and Rhys had looked at him, then at each other, and nodded.  They’d been upset, but they’d believed him.  Slightly relieved, too, if Alfred hadn’t mistaken the look in their eyes, that he’d slept through the worst.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ivan had taken one look at him, at all the tells he’d covered up, and the ones Ivan knew that he didn’t, and hadn’t believed him at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t confronted him on it, yet.  But he’d made it very clear, later on, that he knew there was something Alfred wasn’t telling them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was only when his family had left that Alfred realized he was considering telling him anyways.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had just been lazing around by the fire, when it finally happened.  Alfred had insisted on dragging old linens and the couch pillows to the ground and together - with their combined engineering expertise - they’d constructed a pillow-fort of legend.  Blini had come and curled up in Alfred’s lap, like Alfred was curled up in Ivan’s.  And Alfred felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, Ivan asked him, voice impossibly soft, if he would tell him what had happened.  And Alfred - </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred </span>
  <em>
    <span>did. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He started with what Ivan wouldn’t remember - with the entity dragging him away, with the majestic hue of dusk bruising into an ink-dark night that suffocated him.  With the way it had dragged him down, turning his own power against him, and forced him into the poisoned sleep that trapped him in the confines of his own mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of the terror that had filled him when he realized the sleep wasn’t true sleep, and the entity would not be satisfied with merely devouring him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>horror </span>
  </em>
  <span>that had chilled him to the bone when he realized he wouldn’t be the first to have gone through this.  Of the agony that had burned through him when the reality set in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The worst thing,” he said, feeling the heartbreak all over again as he stared into the fire, “was realizing that every one of my siblings who died that way died in fear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because </span>
  <em>
    <span>perhaps </span>
  </em>
  <span>the poisoned sleep had been kinder, instead of the entity letting each of its victims feel the full physical toll their devouring took.  But it was in no way </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alfred was very well aware that the only reason he’d been allowed to seek comfort in a handful of old memories was because the entity had been too distracted, too high on its new power to terrorize him for long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he remembered the first few, endless memories that it had submerged him in.  Remembered reliving the heart-stopping </span>
  <em>
    <span>fear </span>
  </em>
  <span>and terror that had plagued him during those moments.  Remembered feeling abandoned, helpless, and small in ways he could never get over.  Remembered safety stolen away from him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What will it be, little witch?  Your love or your life?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinked back into reality at the feeling of Ivan carding a hand through his hair.  Another arm was wrapped around his waist, holding him close, grounding him.  Blini was standing in his lap, paws on his shoulders, nudging at his chin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re here.  You’re fine.  You’re safe. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He forced himself to refocus.  To re-center himself on </span>
  <em>
    <span>now </span>
  </em>
  <span>not </span>
  <em>
    <span>then, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and breathe.  He leaned back into Ivan’s embrace, let his hand come up to allow fingers to run through Blini’s fur.  He focused on the heartbeat he could hear behind him, the soothing hum of an old lullaby lingering in the air.  He focused on the softness of Blini’s fur, and the reassuring sound of his gentle purring.  He focused on the warmth around him, all encompassing and blissful and the farthest thing from the past that had him trapped in the cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He breathed in, then out again.  In, then out.  Letting </span>
  <em>
    <span>now </span>
  </em>
  <span>imprint itself in his brain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now was pretty good, actually.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so, with the aid of his family, and his partner, Alfred recovered.  And if he would never forget, well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That just meant he would be ready, when the entity recovered and returned once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>this time, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alfred knew how to protect himself when it did.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Let me know what you thought!  And I hope you enjoyed it!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come find me on tumblr as @emeraldsage98 for fic updates and more :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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